166 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 20, 1890. 



BOYHOOD RECOLLECTIONS. 



I. — OF JIM INJUN. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



For a number of years from my earliest recollection 

 there lived for much of the time at my home in W., in 

 northeastern Connecticut, an old Indian named Jim 

 Wamsley, or Jim Injun, as the folks at home and the 

 people in that neighborhood called him. He was one of 

 the very best of the Narragansett tribe; like nearly all of 

 his race was very partial to rum and cider; and when 

 under the influence of drink was about as cross and 

 quarrelsome as any human being could possibly be; but 

 when sober he was, to me, as much and sometimes even 

 more of a companion than was any of the boys of my 

 own age. He was quite a lover of nature and a tiptop 

 woodsman; I have yet to see an Indian that was not. Be- 

 sides he was no mean herbalist, knowing the properties 

 and uses of the barks, roots and leaves of about every 

 medicinal plant growing in that section. If some good 

 old lady or an invalid had use for any herb, Jim was sure 

 to know exactly where to get it. Whether he got his 

 knowledge of plants from others of the tribe, or from 

 white persons with whom he came in contact, I never 

 knew. But by all odds, fishing was his forte, either for 

 trout or pickerel. He seemed to know of every place in 

 all the ponds and streams where a fish would be likely to 

 hide, and almost always brought home a good-sized string 

 of them. As I grew older I often accompanied him in 

 his fishing excursions, sometimes with and often without 

 the consent of the folks at home. He would very fre- 

 quently go on Sundays, especially if pleasant; and some- 

 times when I was sent alone to church or to Sabbath 

 school I would skulk off behind walls or hills to meet 

 him at some place agreed on, then we would have a jolly 

 good day of it. I was not setting a very good example 

 surely. Once in a while on Sunday evening after coming 

 home I would catch something else besides fish, that was 

 not quite so agreeable. Well, through life we all have 

 to take the bitter with the sweet. 



In fishing for trout Jim never appeared to have any 

 particular system, but would follow it in a kind of a hap- 

 hazard style, with a common pole cut in the woods, 

 peeled and of considerable length. For bait he would 

 use worms, grasshoppers, flies, millers or any insect that 

 he could readily find; but whatever he made use of was, 

 in his hands, effective. 



Sometimes when hungry he would clean a goodly num- 

 ber of the fish, and having built a fire on the bank of the 

 stream or in the forest, he would lay them on the live 

 coals and broil them to a nice brown color or fry them 

 on nice flat stones; then what a splendid feast we would 

 have! Query: Is one's appetite better or the sense of 

 taste more acute in boyhood than in later years? It 

 seems to be so. Since then, scores of times, when on 

 fishing trips, I have eaten trout cooked in all styles, 

 broiled, browned nicely in a frying pan, or made into a 

 chowder, but somehow they never seemed to have that 

 double extra good taste of those prepared near the brook- 

 side by old Jim Injun. 



Being at my former home during a short vacation last 

 year, I concluded to try for trout on what was once the 

 best stream for them in that section, so one morning I 

 started very early and fished the streams thoroughly dur- 

 ing the forenoon, but all that I could catch were two 

 little fingerlings some 5 or 6in. in length. Nothing more. 

 I threw them back again. Whether the brook had been 

 whipped by parties without number in season and out of 

 season, or whether most of the trout had left, or whether 

 they did not care to rise that day, I could form no opin- 

 ion; but I have found that a stream which was once good 

 for trout fishing will sometimes become very poor in that 

 respect in after years. 



From boyhood to the present time I have made it a 

 practice each year to have at least one good fishing ex- 

 cursion, and often more than one when time and circum- 

 stances would permit; sometimes for only one day, at 

 others two, three, or more, camping out during the time; 

 and I have always considered it to be the height of enjoy- 

 ment. Of course, every angler likes to have good luck 

 in getting a well-filled creel or a big string of fish, and 

 always feels proud of such a catch; yet we all know, aside 

 from that, there is a certain pleasure in listening to the 

 murmuring of the stream, the singing of birds or the 

 sighing of the winds through the forest, besides enjoying 

 the beauty of the landscape — all these together form a 

 picture for the mind to dwell upon for weeks, months and 

 years afterward: and what one of her children, in the long 

 run, ever became much poorer in pocket or in health or 

 was ever made worse in morals by communing with our 

 great Mother Nature ? A . L. L. 



II.— NIC AND HORACE. 



A notice the other day in one of our local papers refer- 

 ring to Nicholas D. , set a host of old recollections stirring 

 in my mind; for years ago this man used to work in my 

 father's shop, and I knew him well. I was only a boy 

 then, but Nic, who was a German, knew all about fish- 

 ing and shooting and trapping; and many a "pointer" 

 would he give me as to the likeliest place for muskrats 

 and mink; and, again, he would loan me his old shotgun — 

 with father's consent — and I would scour the hills for 

 squirrels and grouse, always limiting my lead to eighteen 

 No. 6 shot. 



There was another man working for father named 

 Horace and he and Nic were great cronies, hunting, fish- 

 ing and — I am sorry to say— drinking together with the 

 greatest unanimity. It came about one June morning 

 twenty-five years ago that Nic and Horace got father to 

 let me take a day with them fishing. Work was slack, 

 and, according to Nic's calendar, the sign was just right 

 for trout. At an early hour we three (I only a boy of 

 twelve) set out for the Perkinsville swamp, some four 

 miles away. The swamp was then a great forest, through 

 which the creek wound sinuously, abounding in fair- 

 sized black, rather sluggish trout. We reached the ground 

 in good season and fished faithfully until noon, capturing 

 a nice lot. Then emerging on the Wayland road we 

 came to a German tavern kept by one G. Bill. Here 

 Nic and Horace purchased a loaf of rye bread, a milk 

 pan full of sauerkraut and a gallon of beer. I remember 

 well how my boyish taste revolted at the bitter, but took 

 kindly to the kraut and bread; and while I made the 



solids disappear rapidly, my companions were not less 

 assiduous in their attention to the" liquids. By the time 

 I had said "enough," the gallon measure had been 

 emptied a second time; and so it came about that later a 

 very full boy and two very full men might have been 

 seen taking their way cross lots to Mill Creek, which 

 they proposed to fish down to the corporation line and so 

 end the day's sport. As is apt to be the case, the fumes 

 of the beer made the men quarrelsome, and Horace being 

 detected in "swiping" the best trout of the day from 

 Nic's pocket, a struggle ensued of which I was a rather 

 frightened witness; but Nic getting his trout back again 

 and easing his mind by calling Horace a thief, good feel- 

 ing was restored and the procession moved hilariously 

 down a country road. Some German children playing 

 about a puddle in front of a cabin were unceremoniously 

 dipped into the middle of the dirty water, and their wails 

 bringing out the "mutter," armed with a mop, we all 

 took to our heels and never stopped until the fringe of 

 hemlock bordering the Mill Creek gorge was just before 

 us. 



By this time the beer had so far evaporated that the 

 men were in fair fishing trim again, and descending to 

 the creek we began taking them — not the logy, thickset 

 fellows of the swamp, but those lithe, active, beautiful 

 creatures, for which Mill Creek is still famous. Going 

 down the gorge the footing began to get precarious and 

 difficult, and being almost tired out I decided to cease 

 fishing and ascend to the tcp of the bank and follow 

 down that way. We carried no creels, using our pocket- 

 handkerchiefs and crotched twigs for carrying the trout, 

 but we had a fine lot, and when we divided I was given 

 the lion's share. "Now H.," said Nic as we parted, "tell 

 your pa that we didn't get very drunk, won't you ?" 



The old swamp is all gone now. When the Lackawanna 

 Railway made its western extension it went directly 

 along the stream, so the trees have all been cut away and 

 the ditches along the line carry the w 7 aters once abound- 

 ing in trout. Mill Creek is still intact, and many a good 

 day's fishing have I had along its tide; but that is fast dete- 

 riorating; my boy will hardly arrive at the fisliing age in 

 time to get more than a fingerling trout from its waters; 

 but so be it. Our game and fish may disappear, but the 

 years cannot tear from us our happy recollections; they 

 need no propagation or yearly planting, but are as last- 

 ing as life itself. H. W. D. L. 



DansviltjE, N. Y. 



DUNGENESS-A WINTER HOME.-IV. 



FIVE O'CLOCK one morning Will and I awoke half- 

 way to Fernandina, having slept aboard the yacht. 

 Dr. P. and Mr. P. met us there with Jim, the darky 

 driver, and a comfortable Victoria. To shoot from a 

 Victoria was indeed a variety in the hunting line, but as 

 the day advanced I grew to appreciate its comforts ten- 

 fold. 



We stepped swiftly out of town, crossed the wide 

 marsh I had looked out upon the night in December as 

 the car bore us all to Fernandina, and before many 

 miles had been traversed we were in the pine woods. 

 Then we let the two clogs out and told Jim to keep a 

 sharp eye for points. Not until we had dismounted at a 

 cleared field did we get up a covey of quail, but out of it 

 we got three. Jim drove on, while Mr. P. and I left Will 

 and the doctor, each pair taking a different direction. 

 We managed to get up another small bunch, out of 

 which two fell. By dint of much calling and whistling, 

 for in a pine woods one is so easily lost, the little party 

 was again assembled at the carriage. Although the dogs 

 several times led us to believe they were on hot trails, 

 we did not flush any more birds until we reached a farm 

 some ten miles back in the woods and bordering Nassau 

 River. The fields were well over-grown with grass, such 

 a perfect cover for birds I never saw equaled: and space 

 — why, there were acres and acres. 



Will and I were anxious to shoot against Doctor and 

 Mr. P., so they left us near the carriage and walked to 

 the other end of the field, over a mile away. First two 

 together, then far apart we rounded our given portion 

 twice, failing in the turns to flush but one bird. To add 

 to our grievance we counted their shots, twenty-one in 

 all. Feeling at last we had been fooled into having the 

 part given us where there were no birds, in rather a bad 

 humor we went to the carriage, having made up our 

 minds that if we could not get any bu ds we would get 

 some lunch. Shot followed shot until we could stand it 

 no longer; so shouldering our guns we set off in the direc- 

 tion they had taken. We made rather a roundabout 

 tour, meeting them just as die circle was completed. 

 For twenty-one shots what do you think they had to 

 show ? They ought to have been "ashamed of themselves, 

 and I think they did look a trifle sheepish, as only four 

 birds composed their bag. In the face of such luck we 

 did not have the heart to guy them. Before leaving the 

 field we got up another bunch, from which Will took 

 two birds and I one. 



Once in the middle of the woods, with pine trees on 

 every side, both dogs got on a very stiff point, as seen by 

 Jim from his elevated seat. While walking over to them 

 we kept calling all the time, "Steady, sir! Steady!" but 

 just as we were about ready to flush the birds, the 

 younger dog, no longer able to control himself, jumped 

 forward, making the birds rise straight up, instead of on 

 a gradual slant. All four barrels went off and two birds 

 fell, one to each pair. Marking their resting places, we 

 divided and succeeded in getting two more from the 

 covey before Jim drove up. 



Near a swamp our darky called, "They is pinting," 

 and both dogs sure enough were standing side by side, 

 heads forward, legs firm, and tails straight out and hard 

 as iron. We were terribly fooled. 1 never knew dogs to 

 act so before. Nothing was there at all. It must have 

 been a spot hardly vacated a minute by a bunch we 

 flushed in a near-by field. As the birds we jumped 

 passed Will and the Doctor, they each got a bird ; and 

 seeing them settle on the border of a swamp, we pro- 

 ceeded cautiously. One got up by me and I knocked him 

 over: then Doctor wiped Wills eye first and mine twice 

 as we eached missed birds, but Mr. P. got his. Will shot 

 the next two that got up, besides losing another that fell 

 out in the water. I shot one a minute after and got wet 

 to the knees wading for it. Some doubt was expressed 

 as to who got the next bird, but I gues the Doctor killed 

 it. From one covey we had done all this shooting, and 

 in much better spirits we entered the carriage homeward 

 bound. 



Toward the end of our last shooting we had missed Mr. 

 P.'s dog, but when on our way about 50yds. we found 

 him seated by a tree quietly waiting for" us. He had 

 grown weary standing point, so sat down to it, and when 

 the Doctor flushed and killed the bird, he seemed mighty 

 pleased, w-agging his tail as much as to say, "I knew you 

 would come and so I waited." Only one more stop was 

 made and that was as night was falling rapidly. The 

 covey we flushed was quite large, but the light being bad 

 only one bird parted company with its fellows and the 

 Doctor claimed that. I don't doubt it was his, but the 

 claim would have been hard to establish. 



Darkness had settled over the marsh when we came to 

 the road which led across, and far away were the shining 

 lights of town or the occasional gleaming ray which shot 

 from the revolving lighthouse tower. 



When at last aboard the boat which plied between Fer- 

 nandina and Brunswick, unmindful of luxurious comfort, 

 Will and I fell asleep upon chairs in the cabin , not need- 

 ing the songs of the darkies who were loading cotton be- 

 low to lull us into dreamland. When I awoke the boat 

 was far on toward the island. G. F. Blandy. 



A TEXT TO FIT THE OCCASION. 



REV. DR. G, a clergyman of the Episcopal church, 

 and brother of one of its greatest bishops, has a 

 true note of the apostolical succession in his character 

 of fisherman. In this character be became acquainted 

 many years ago with Paid Smith , the well-known land- 

 lord of the Adirondacks, who was then only a humble 

 guide in the depths of our northern wilderness. Now, 

 Paul was christened Apollos, and had been known during 

 all his early life as "Pol" Smith. It was only when he 

 became famous as a hotel proprietor that this abbrevia- 

 tion was changed to tho more dignified name of the 

 Apostle to the Gentiles. 



At another visit in later years, after exchanging de- 

 lightful reminiscences of monster trout and big catches 

 with his clerical friend, Paul showed him a chapel which 

 he had just built for the use of his guests. The proper 

 sentiment for the occasion was duly expressed. "And 

 now," continued the witty divine, "can you tell me what 

 text I should take if I were asked to preach at the dedi- 

 cation of that chapel?" As the selection of scripture 

 texts was not one of the many offices he had been forced 

 to qualify himself for in the course of his varied experi- 

 ence the ex-guide gave it up. "You will find it," said 

 his interlocutor, assuming his pulpit voice and manner, 

 "at the fifth verse of the third chapter of the first epistle 

 of Paul to the Corinthians, in these words: 'Who then is 

 Paul, and who is Apollos?' " 



THE ADIRONDACK PARK PROJECT. 



FRANKLIN FALLS, N. H., March 14 — Editor Forest 

 and Stream; I am very glad to see your wise and 

 excellent editorial article in this week's paper. We shall 

 need the full year for the presentation and discussion of 

 all the interests, theories and plans connected with the 

 j>roblenis of the North Woods. I am specially interested 

 in having all classes of people who value the wilderness 

 on any account take part in the discussion, so that they 

 can bear their part in influencing public opinion and in 

 shaping the policy which shall be finally adopted. I 

 hope the fishermen, hunters, camping people and all 

 lovers of the wilds will speak through your paper. Let 

 us begin at once. The paper has just come, and Mrs. 

 Harrison — it always goes to her first — has just read aloud 

 to me, with merry laughter, the letter from Antoine Bis- 

 sette. We earnestly hope we are to have a new series of 

 messages from our old friends, and trust that after they 

 have been married a year or so Huldy will be willing to 

 have Sani go fishing, and that he will be glad to go. 



J. B. Harrison, Cor.-Sec. 

 N. Y. State Forestry Association. 



THE NATIONAL PARK BILL. 



FROM present indications it seems probable that the bill 

 changing the Park boundary may be defeated at this session 

 of Congress, and the miners of Cooke he deprived for another two 

 years of the legitimate fruits of their investments and labor dur- 

 ing the past decade. And all through the efforts of a coterie of 

 schemers who are attempting to secure a right of way through 

 the Park for the manifestly selfish purcose of disposing of their 

 franchise as a speculation. It, should have become evident to 

 these parties long ago that no railroad will be granted permission 

 to enter the confines of the nation's pleasure ground, but that, in 

 the interest of the miners of Cooke, legislation could no doubt be 

 secured to change the Park boundaries to permit a railroad to 

 reach that camp along the natural water route of the Yellowstone 

 River and Soda Butte Creek. That the necessary change in the 

 boundary would be secured was almost a foregone conclusion un- 

 til the right of way bill through the Park was urged. As an evi- 

 dence of this we clip the following from the Forest asd Stream, 

 a, iournal that has zealously fought against any invasion of the. 

 nation's pleasure ground by railroads: 



"The opposition to a Park bill in the House of Representatives 

 has come from people who desired to obtain a franchise for a rail- 

 way to run through the Park. A strong lobby has long fought 

 for this grant, and the lobby declares that without some provision 

 of the kind no bill for the protection of the Park forests, and the 

 preservation of this national reservoir, shall pass the House. 



"Up to the present session the railroad lobby have professed to 

 be governed only hy a consideration for the public welfare. 

 Ignoring other available railway routes from Cooke City, they 

 have professed to desire the privilege of building a road down 

 the Yellowstone river, so that the miners of Cooke City could get 

 their ore out of the mountains to a trunk line. Now, this does 

 not satisfy them. In order to conciliate the opposition and to 

 hasten the progress of the bill through Congress, the friends of 

 the Park have intimated to the railway people their willingness 

 to so amend the Vest bill that the Yellowstone and Lamar rivers 

 and Soda Butte Creek should form in part the boundary of the 

 Park on the north. This would give an opportunity for a railway 

 lying wholly without the Park to be built from Cooke City to 

 Gardiner. Thus Cooke would have her outlet, and the integrity 

 of the Park would be preserved. 



"When this compromise was offered to the speculators by the 

 friends of the Park, it was refused." 



The Forest and Stream should understand that it is not in 

 the interest of speculators that legislation is asked for the pur- 

 pose of securing a railroad to Cooke, and no compromise with 

 this class of lobbyists is required. The people demand railroad 

 transportation for the rich mining camp of Cooke as an absolute 

 necessity, owing to the low grade of much of the ore of that 

 district." It is conceded that the proposed route along the Yellow- 

 stone River and Soda Butte Creek is' the only feasible aad 

 practicable one. It is therefore of vital importance that this 

 route should be secured for a railroad, and if the opponents of 

 the proposed right of way through the Park are in earnest in 

 their efforts to prevent it, we see no more effective way of disposing 

 of it than by supporting the proposed bill for the segregation of 

 that small portion requested by the true friends of Cooke City. 

 -Livingston (Mont.) Enterprise, March 8. 



A Book About Indians— The Forest and Stream will mail 

 free on application a descriptive circular of Mr. Grinnell's book, 

 "Pawnee Hero Stories and Folk-Tales," giving a table of content* 

 and specimen iUustratioii.fi from the volume,— Adv. 



