March 13, 1890.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



147 



he proportioned upon the lines of one's ordinary clothes, and less 

 like a monstrosity than the present style, will have one customer 

 at any rale. For trap-shootiug one needs a eo it, or rather two, 

 one tor summer and the other for wiuter, which shall onl y differ 

 Irom ttie ordinary business coat in the freedom of arm move- 

 ment, and at the same tune he dressy enough to wear if one goes 

 away from home 10 shoot. It lias seemed to me that a vest with 

 slefves would b^st answer the purpose, provided the armhole is 

 cut larger than is usual, the sleeves cut full a f the elbow, and to 

 button at, the wrist, like a blouse. A man's gun must fit in the 

 hollow between t.be shoulder and breast, if he would save himself 

 from the recoil, and unless his clothing will permit the butt rest- 

 ing there, it will slip down on the arm" just where the long head 

 of the biceps is inserted and cause a bruise which takes time to 

 cure, ana might readily result in a permanent injury. 



it is a strange fact that American sportsmen will accept and 

 use what any oi her nationality of sportsmen would not conde- 

 scend to look at, and if Mr. Lancaster's "Art of Shooting" por- 

 trays the average English shooting suit correctly, I have yet to 

 sec anything in our country as practical and comfortable in ap- 

 pearance as the eaherdine jicket and knickerooekers figured 

 therein, yet there is no reason why we should not have quite as 

 sensible and comfortable c'othing as any nation on earth. Have 

 we no tailors who are sportsmen? To look over the piles of cloth- 

 ing designed for sportsmen one would think riot, for the. jackets 

 resembh anything else, and if you give your average tailor an 

 order tor a shooting jacket, you get a cross between a business ooat 

 and a smokingeown, fit only to wear when you don't intend to use 

 ague. A few years ago one could not get a comfortable boot or 

 shoe for field wo> k; now they are made to suit the most fastidi- 

 ous. I have a pair which I wore whpn fresh from the maker's 

 hands for o^e -=ohd vcek's shooting in Virginia, witn uever a gall 

 or corn to snow at the ena of seven days' hard walking. Would 

 that Sjme genius will disign a jacket upon serviceable principles, 

 and earn not only the gratitude of those who wear nis goods, but 

 a fair share of the lucre now spent for what are termed by 

 courtesy sportsmen's jar kets. Picijs. 



Font Hiu, Howard Co., Md. 



ON THE NORTH SHORE.-VII. 



A THREE WEEKS' TROUTING TRIP ON THE NORTH SHORE 

 OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 



THAT evening, after supper, we again found our pears 

 left on the table, and this roused the lion in Ned, 

 Who in an authoritative voice ordered them removed and 

 cared for at once. Peter obeyed with alacrity, for he 

 feared another revolution, which would probably not 

 end quite as mild as the last. Ned averred that bis 

 theory, "that a dead Indian is the only good Indian," 

 still held good with him. There are good Indians at the 

 "Soo," but they are like angel's visits, exceedingly rare. 



During the trip I made a few years ago to the Nepigon, 

 in which Ned was of the party, we had three of the most 

 faithful half-breeds I ever met. They were kind, cour- 

 teous and industrious and strove to please us in every- " 

 thing. They reside at Garden City, on the Soo River, 

 twelve miles below the rapids. Their names are Joe 

 Bell, Pat and Ed. Sayers, a trinity of guides hard to beat. 

 Then again there is that veteran at the "Soo," John 

 Boucher, who is eagerly sought for and liked by every- 

 body. There are a few more, and when the entire roll is 

 called it is small indeed. Many chapters could be given 

 of the hardships and annoyances anglers have experi- 

 enced who visit; this great lake for sport in consequence 

 of having engaged guides or boatmen who turned out to 

 be slothful, dirty, sullen and insubordinate, and cared 

 nothing for their employer's comfort or pleasure. It is 

 far better when a case of this kind develops for the dis- 

 appointed and deceived angler to return at once, as that 

 cuts off their levenue and places them on the already 

 large blacklist of incompetents. It is very amusing to 

 hear that veteran angler of the Nepigon, Mr. W. M. 

 Cameron, from whom "Cameron's Pool" on that famous 

 river takes its name, relate his experiences with the half- 

 breeds and Indians. They would fill a volume if given in 

 detail. I will relate a few of them as they fell from the 

 lip9 of this accomplished angler. On one occasion when 

 he was on a North Shore expedition, one of his Indians 

 played the sick dodge for about two days. Tiring of the 

 sham, he concluded to leave him a shore, and so started 

 without him. The boat had not gone over a rod or two 

 before the deserted Indian came running out of the 

 bushes holding up his hands for parley. Cameron told 

 him that he would have no sick person aboard. 

 "Me all well," cried the Indian. 

 "Quite sure?" 

 "Me verv sound." 

 "All right then." 



And so they took him aboard, and from that time he 

 proved the best "helper" in camp. 



On another occasion he desired to cross a bay which 

 was about ten miles wide, in a canoe, in order to meet an 

 overdue steamer. The Indian absolutely refused to go, 

 as he declared it too hazardous. Cameron very deliber- 

 ately drew his revolver and marched him down to the 

 frail craft at the poiut of the muzzle. The Indian loudly 

 protested, but it was of no use, and fearing the revolver 

 and the threatening aspect of the stern man behind it he 

 tremblingly got into the canoe and paddled out with the 

 hazardous man. The steamer was met and they were 

 picked up, much to the delight of the Indian. 



It was on the Nep : gon a decide of years ago and when 

 he was in his prime tnat he conquered a very insolent 

 Indian in pure prize ring style. One morning the Indian 

 in question excited his ire by his impudence, and Cam- 

 eron in consequence gave him a most vicious kick. The 

 Indian turned around to strike back, when he was con- 

 fronted with the glistening steel of a death-dealing 

 "Swamp Angel." The offending Indian went sullenly 

 away, muttering threats of dire revenge. On joining 

 the other Indians of the camp, there being two more 

 parties of sportsmen here at that time, he stated to them 

 that he would have whipped Monsieur Cameron, as he 

 called him, if it had not been for the revolver drawn on 

 him. This coming to Cameron's ears it aroused the lion 

 in his heart, and putting his revolver away and stripping 

 off his j (Cket, he wenc over to the Indian's quarters, fol- 

 lowed by all the camper?. Cameron was not only fear- 

 less, but had that matchless physique which few men 

 could equal. His sinews stood out like whipcords, while 

 his iron-like urn-cles were of an unexampled size that a 

 prize fighter would have envied. He was the very per- 

 sonification of an athlete. Finding the Indian, who was 

 sprawling on the ground nursing his su >dued wrath, 

 Cameron, who-e keen, sharp eyes by this time were 

 flashing fire, give him a kick which brought him to his 

 feet with a countenance perfectly fiendish. 



"You say you can whip me without my revolver?" asks 

 the thoroughly aroused angler. 



"Yes," replied the savage, 



"Come on, then." 



"Me don't want fight." 



"Yes, but you shall fight." 



And with this avowal Cameron struck him in the face 

 with his open hand, and then the Indian, with the pent 

 up rage bursting forth, made a vicious lunge at his fiery 

 adversary. Cameron, who had stepped back a few feet 

 to give freedom to his actions, parried the blow of his 

 frantic foe with his left hand, and then he let that terri- 

 ble right of his sail out with a strength that would have 

 felled an ox. It took the Indian on the jugular below 

 the ear and sent him to mother earth some ten feet dis- 

 tant, with the blood freely flowing from his nose and 

 mouth. He lay there unconscious for a while, and when 

 he arose to his feet he was still dazed with the terrible 

 blow. 



"Want some more?" said Cameron. 



"Me got nuff." 



"Now behave yourself." 



And he did from that time out, but he never forgot 

 that white man's blow, and we doubt if he ever forgave 

 it. Such were the veteran Cameron's methods on his 

 outings, and they were always a success. The Indians 

 and half-breeds not only learned to respect him, but 

 feared him as some one with supernatural powers. He 

 is known by every Indiau on the Nepigon, and, we might 

 also add, North Shore. The veteran is now in his seventy- 

 seventh year, and is yet hale and hearty, which he 

 attributes as much to his open-air sports as aught else. 

 We learned on our last trip to the Nepigon that the sub- 

 dued Indian had been drowned in consequence of being 

 too full of fire water when canoeing. 



Mr. H. P. Smith, of the Chippewa House at Sault Ste. 

 Marie, says he will never forget Cameron and his party, 

 which every summer for many years made his house their 

 stopping place when en route to their trouting grounds. 

 "There were four of them, including old Ned, and they 

 were all thoroughbreds. They were big-hearted men, 

 splendid anglers, and ever alert for a practical joke. If 

 the burning of my hotel would have served their purpose 

 in carrying out any humorous frolic, they would not have 

 hesitated a minute in applying the torch, and then set- 

 tling the bill like princes. One morning one of the party 

 being in his room espied some choice young chickens in 

 the adjoining yard, and desiring to secure some of them 

 procured some corn and commenced angling for them 

 from the window. In pulling in the fifth the lady of the 

 house, being attracted by the pitiful cries, came into the 

 yard to see 'what on earth' was the matter with her 

 fowls. She got there just in time to observe the fowl- 

 fishing angler when he was reeling in the struggling 

 chicken. 



' ' 'What does this mean ?' says the now angered woman . 



" 'Beg pardon', but we are out of spring chickens and 

 must have 'cm. ' What are they worth?' 



" 'I charge fifty cents when I deliver them, but when 

 they are stolen with hook and line one dollar is my price.' 



"A five dollar bill fluttered in the air and dropped at the 

 lady's feet. At that prompt settlement she looked up at 

 the crestfallen chicken angler, and with a sunny smile 

 overspreading her face said: 



" 'Do you wish to do any more fishing in my back yard 

 this morning?' 



" 'Not at a dollar a head, I assure you.' 



"The boomerang had this time recoiled heavily upon the 

 practical joker. 



"They perpetrated a joke upon me," continued Smith, 

 "which was as amusing as it was costly. The four were 

 seated on the front gallery of the hotel one delightful 

 morning discussing various topics, when, on discovering 

 my wife at the window just over them, one of them says: 

 'How much did Smith lose at poker last evening?' At 

 the mention of my name, coupled with poker, my wife, 

 woman like, was eager to hear the story to the end, 

 and so became an attentive listener. 'He lost four hun- 

 dred dollars,' said another. 'Nonsense,' still another 

 cried, 'he lost five hundred if he lost a dollar.' The infor- 

 mation coming to my wife, as she thought, without 

 knowledge of the gentlemen stating it, unduly excited 

 her, for she has an utter abhorrence of all gambling, and 

 of course she sought me at once and gave me a lecture 

 that I haven't forgotten to this day. All I coidd say or 

 do would not satisfy her as to my innocence of the grave 

 charge. She clung to it that such gentlemen would not 

 falsify about it. It cost me a magnificent seal-skin cloak 

 to bribe my wife to silence on the subject. The joking 

 anglers never let up on it, and two years ago, when 

 Cameron came up from Petoskey to have a talk over the 

 halcyon days of the past, he refreshed my memory with 

 the poker joke. Woe to the tenderfoot who ever struck 

 this combination, for they would have his hide hanging 

 on the fence in short order. I always breathed easier 

 when they left on their trouting trip, but at the same 

 time I was always glad to see these big-hearted men re- 

 turn. They were so overflowing with such a super- 

 abundance of the vital forces, that they must need work 

 it off with 'cap and bells' in hand." 



I am digressing and must return to camp affairs ere I 

 lose the thread of my narrative. We concluded that 

 evening before returning that if the wind was favorable 

 in the morning we would take an early start and endeavor 

 to make the "Soo" that day. 



The dawn disclosed the wind in the right quarter, but 

 with dull ashen gray clouds and a slight fog. We de- 

 termined to start as soon as possible and make what 

 distance the weather would permit. Breakfast was hur- 

 riedly finished, and in a few minutes we had the camp 

 dismantled and everything aboard. Joe was uncer- 

 tain about the weather, as there was an ugly look both 

 overhead and in the waters, but there was a fine sailing 

 breeze, with the white caps dancing quite lively. We 

 started before the wind like a racer, and as we got in the 

 misty masses of the fog, which seemed to be on the in- 

 crease, our heavy overcoats were resorted to for comfort. 

 Just before we passed the point that shut us out from a 

 view of the camp grounds, I turned to take a last look 

 at the now deserted place, when lo, and behold! there 

 was our old crow with several of his companions on the 

 beach in the act of sweeping down on our abandoned 

 quarters. "Caw, caw, caw," cried the crows, and then 

 on wing they rose and settled on the trees near the 

 coveted ground. They were yet a little cautious, but be- 

 fore we passed entirely out of sight they had taken full 

 possession, and were amply rewarded with the broken 

 food that in our hasty departure we left scattered around. 



Down came mist-laden clouds of fog until the chill in 

 the atmosphere seemed to crowd into your very bones. 



Not a drop of comfort was to be had; even the lines of 

 the wooded shore were fast being shut out. I tried to 

 extract some satisfaction out of the weird shadows hang- 

 ing on the shores by endeavoring to find some picturesque 

 objects in the moving masses as they mingled with the 

 forests. I imagined at one time I saw a Gothic castle 

 perfect in its architecture, but the foundation and the 

 turrets tumbled together and the imposing structure 

 melted into misty air. Again a shepherdess and her dog 

 in statuesque attitude seemed to leap out of the fog, but the 

 dog's hindiegs instantly disappeared and the shepherdess 

 lost her head and staff at the same time. Caverns and 

 cliffs, hills and vales were abundantly carved from these 

 moving masses, but they had such facility of getting 

 mixed and ill-shapen that all recognition of form was 

 impossible. Grotto and grove, the beauty of Arcadian 

 life, were eagprly sought for, but were nowhere to be 

 found in these incongruous forms, and the only fountain 

 presented was that of the unshapely mist, which coldly 

 sprayed upon us; in fact, no poetic beauty was discover- 

 able, or could be had with the most expansive imagina- 

 tion. It was an elemental strife, a striking difference be- 

 tween the temperatures of air and water with the results 

 which so enshrouded us as to cut us off from all that is 

 beautiful in nature and leave us as castaways without a 

 beacon guide. I turned to Ned in sheer desperation in 

 expectation of getting him to exercise his vocal organ, 

 but, on seeing him so buried in his great overcoat and 

 shivering with the cold, I well knew he could not emit 

 one note of melody, and so another grand scheme for 

 solace went glimmering. 



We were now getting near Goulais Bay Point and the 

 question arose as to whether it would be safe to attempt 

 its crossing in the fog without a compass. J oe assured me 

 that he could hold the boat square for th^e point on the other 

 side, and that the only danger to fear was the arising of 

 a sudden storm. Ned and I considered, as we were be- 

 yond tne three score, that we would not lose much in the 

 calendar of time even if the cruel waves did take us into 

 their safe keeping, and so we ordered the compassless 

 boat across the nine-mile stretch. We had not gone 

 far from the shore before we realized a strong wind and 

 a lumpy sea. Our little boat behaved nobly, but every 

 now and then she would take a header (is that nautical ?) 

 in some big wave, and then a shower of spray would 

 come down upon us, much to our discomfort. It was jolly 

 fun, I assure you. but none of us either smiled or laughed 

 about it; it was too earnest to be trifled with. 



I had read Byron's "Corsair" in the poetic days of my 

 youth and still remembered that stanza which so smoothly 

 glides : 



"Once more upon the waters; yet once more, 

 And the waves hound heneath me, as a steed 

 That knows his rider I" 

 This may sound mellifluent from the deck of some 

 man-of-war, but from a little open sailboat, that has to 

 keep near the shore, I didn't think it at all appropriate, 

 and concluded that Byron was no "great shakes" after 

 all. There was no poetic fact in it for us, as the waters 

 had a strong tendency to bound over instead of under us, 

 and as things were rattling from one end of the boat to 

 the other, the waves growing larger every minute, the 

 spray dashing over us more frequently, our course all 

 guesswork, and "The steed that knows his rider" knew 

 us not, Byron's "Corsair" to me at that moment was a 

 fraud and a delusion. I mean the facts, not the rhythm, 

 I have no doubt that I could have enjoyed it on shore 

 just then, and might not have differed from him as to its 

 realism, but the bounding billows in that poetry had no 

 charm for me just at that particular time; they were an 

 aggravation 1 could have caeerfully dispensed with. 



We had gone about three miles when Joe marie the an- 

 nouncement that the wind, had evidently let down a 

 little. 



Ned answered in melancholy tones that "it had let 

 down to take a fresh hold." 



"Here is a false prophet, Joe; shall we throw him over- 

 board?" 



"If it blows more we want him for ballast," replied 

 Joe. 



"All right, then, into the ballast ho goes." 



So Ned was permitted to remain and enjoy, if he could, 

 his prognostications as ballast, if they were realized; but 

 he was doomed to agreeable disappointment, as the wind 

 lulled in a little while quite perceptibly. The fog also 

 was lifting, as we could see a much greater distance on 

 the lake, and soon the outlines of the wooded shore 

 ahead of us were made manifest. Joe had the nose of 

 the boat in direct line with Goulais Bay Point. He had 

 held her as true as the needle to the magnet. Under such 

 conditions our gloomy feelings soon dissipated and cheer- 

 fulness began to possess every one, and even Byron went 

 up a notch or two as a man of great poetic genius. I had 

 discovered great merit in his "Cursair," and readily real- 

 ized that "the waves bound beneath me as a steed that 

 knows his rider." 



To add to the agreeable change, we had a glimpse of the 

 sun's lovely face, which was striving hard to battle away 

 the clouds of dense vapor. He soon triumphed and was 

 as radiant as ever. 



"Turning, wi'h splendor in his precious eye, 

 The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold." 

 As we neared shore the atmosphere was rapidly becom- 

 ing warmer, and overcoats, in consequence, were removed. 

 The charming change was akin to a rapid trip from the 

 snow-clad regions of the Arctic to the balmy and frag- 

 rant air of the tropics. Ned now opened up his budget 

 of rollicking songs about the sea, the flashing brine, the 

 spray and the tempest's roar, the wet sheet and the flow- 

 ing sea, a life on the ocean wave, and so on without end. 

 His organ was in full play, and he so infused everybody 

 with his vocal magnetism that a regular operatic troupe 

 went into full rehearsal. I laugh as I now write when I 

 think about the lively antics we all indulged in. Ned 

 introduced an imported song with pantomimic accom- 

 paniment that made a world of fun. Each one as the 

 song was rendered was to imitate the playing of the in- 

 stiument assigned him, be it violin, flute, trombone or 

 drum, the pieces selected on this occasion. Ned, the 

 vocalist and leader, to.ik the violin. Now, whenever he 

 dropped bis instrument and took up one of the others, 

 that one was to take his and go through the pantomimic 

 playing. All mistakes were made finable, and I assure 

 you it took a quick eye and active mind to escape the 

 penalty. Ned called the band to order, and all being on 

 the qui vive, started off singing; 



