388 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[June 5, 1890. 



the way home in the evening Henry and I came across it 

 in the middle of the road going up from the late. It had 

 the appearance of having fallen there the instant before. 

 We had a jolly gallop down the long hill into the park. 

 When the saddle and bridle were taken off the nimble- 

 footed Biddy. Henry, much to my consternation, turned 

 her loose. As she walked briskly'away 1 had a vision of 

 my husband walking back to Wagon Wheel Gap while I 

 rode his Pinto. But after a twenty- five mile run under 

 a side saddle the watering: trough was good enough and 

 far enough for Biddy. What a comfort must be a water 

 trough in a dry land ! 



The next day Henry went hunting again, and I prefer 

 he should tell his own tale and shoulder his own respon- 

 sibilities. 



Frank Seward, the younger of the two sons, had cut 

 his hand and could not work, so, the nest day, he joined 

 in my hunt. His brother bade me farewell with grim 

 humor, and vague hints about the way the young man 

 rode; but I had had handshakings before upon occasions 

 of mounting strange bronchos said to "buck," and did 

 not give the weight to this one which, had I better known 

 the temper of this seventeen-year-old Man of the Mountain, 

 I should have given. 



Three dogs followed us from the house, but, as we only 

 wanted one of them, he "cut out" the other two rascals 

 as deftly as if they had been a couple of stray cattle, and 

 when they saw what was up, the way they tucked down 

 their tails and scudded for the house, and, what is more, 

 the way he put spurs to his wiry little steed and followed, 

 almost cutting them down at every leap; and the way 

 the dogs hurled themselves into the house, and the way 

 he and his horse spread out their legs and got stopped 

 with their noses barely without the door, gave me some 

 foretaste of what was to come. Mr. B. and the young 

 ladies were going down to the river to fish, and we 

 walked alongside to direct them. But when we had said 

 good-by to them until evening, my "chaperon" turned to 

 me with a meaning and lively look and said, "Are you 

 ready?" 



We were on the bank which overhung the Avater some 

 3ft. or so. I saw no ford, but did see the point of his in- 

 quiry, and made ready for an immediate test of the 

 mettle of this strange and scrawny little charger beneath 

 me. Touching his horse gently with his spurs, it jumped 

 its forefeet into the stream, stood thus on its head for an 

 instant, and the next was splashing its way across to the 

 opposite bank, where the process was reversed. One 

 could see with half an eye that the two young partners 

 in mischief had done "the trick twenty times before. 

 There was a certain smoothness about it that betokened 



Sractice. I touched Pinto and he timidly followed suit, 

 "ice little Pinto. He was in a strange land, and would 

 do what he could to keep company with another of his 

 kind. Once upon tne bank, he of the spurs disappeared 

 with a rush down a willow-embowered path, Pinto in- 

 stinctively pursuing. A minute, and horse and rider 

 clambered out of the thicket, up a steep bluff, stopping 

 at its summit. A handsome lad, a gray horse, a blue sky 

 for a background. Then we galloped off over the prairie 

 toward a line of willows, telling of a stream leading up 

 into the mountains. 



"Will these animals trip in these gopher holes?" I 

 asked. 



"I don't know," he giggled back. He was enjoying 

 omething or other, I know not what. 



And then we were beside the little stream, passing 

 along its steep and bushy banks, over places where I 

 would not have tried to drive a cow, »nd always at that 

 inevitable gallop. Or, if it became too steep for even 

 that, the gait only changed into a momentary scramble. 

 Still, at the very bad places, I soon noticed that he took 

 his uphill foot out of the stirrup and leaned over, trim- 

 ming ship as it were, and ready to slip off unharmed if 

 his horse's feet went out. Once we slowed up, as the 

 way led through a treetop, and shortly thereafter dis- 

 mounted and securing our horses, climbed up into one 

 of those mountain pastures so dear to the hunter. It is 

 useless to go over the story. There was nothing there. 

 There was a "yard" there in the trees at its edge where 

 my companion said the elk had tramped the snow down 

 hard the previous winter. A deer track inspired me 

 with short-lived anticipation once, but it had a seedy, 

 last week look about it. Kennedy the Cave Dweller 

 again. After eating our luncheon at the stream, we 

 started homeward, stopping several times thitherward 

 in the foolish endeavor to shoot grouse on the wing with 

 our Winchesters. We took the other bank going home, 

 possibly in order that I might have the benefit of an en- 

 tire change of programme. For first there was. a swamp, 

 smooth enough on its surface, but hilly in its bottom, 

 where Pinto fell. This pleased the two young people in 

 advance greatly, although I kept my seat and Pinto 

 quickly regained his feet. Then he began looking for a 

 certain path into the bushes, and, when it appeared, spur- 

 red his horse at it and in tbey went. There, ahead of us, 

 was the stream, with steep sides down to the deep 

 water. A whether-or-no water-jump of five feet. They 

 did it with that same suggestion of familiarity. There 

 was no time to stop, and as I lifted Pinto over it my hand 

 convulsively clutched the pommel of the saddle, for 

 while Pinto seemed to have done such things before, I 

 hadn't. As we hurried on the two in advance tossed 

 their heads, and one of them called back that it was not 

 fair to hold on. Then we got up on the bluffs and walked 

 our tired animals until we came to a bank. I cannot tell 

 how steep that bank was. If you are an elderly person, 

 as most likely you are — this style of composition appeal- 

 ing more to the truth and soberness of age — you would 

 most likely think twice before venturing down it, and rest 

 twice before going up; and yet he turned his horse's head 

 over it, and down they went at a hard gallop. And at 

 the bottom he expended the energy he had expected to 

 devote to the summersault they both richly deserved in 

 leaning over, while they yet galloped forward, and pick- 

 ing up a stone from the ground, his other hand held aloft 

 in mute disdain of the pommel. 



Going up the level road to the house he said tenta- 

 tively, "But you ought to be out iiere in May when we're 

 bustin' bronchos ! 



This last summer his elder brother wrote, "Frank says 

 to tell you he has a three-year old that's the horse for 

 you. A five-barred gate is nothing for him." 



And I wondered if it was the claybank. 



When we had eaten supper at Alimoaa, and were sit- 



ting at the door of the sleeper, being whirled homeward, 

 the sun setback in the canon of the Rio Grande del Norte, 

 painting the sky and the mountains in the most resplen- 

 dent hues. Even the rails, as they spun out beneath us, 

 turned into precious metal. 



I 



LOST ON RENOUS. 



WAS once foolish enough to rely upon the knowledge 

 of one who, to use his own words, had put an Indian 

 on the trail after he had strayed from it. Taking the 

 risk, I suffered the consequences by letting him lose both 

 of us in the wilds of New Brunswick. It was in July, 

 1888, when salmon fishing on the Renous River, and hap- 

 pened about as follows: 



We left our headquarters one morning as soon after 

 lunch as the demands of our big appetites would permit, 

 on our way to a pool on the North Branch, about four 

 miles distant. After crossing the main river, which at 

 the starting point is not over your knees in depth, and 

 passing through a mile or so of burnt woods with its attend- 

 ant blackening of hands, face and clothing, we find good 

 walking on an old portage for the remainder of the dis- 

 tance, arriving at the pool in a little over two hours from 

 the time of starting. We saw several fish, but as the 

 water was very low and clear and the sun fell on the 

 pool, we could not get a rise. It was useless to keep 

 thrashing the pool any longer, so after smoking a pipe 

 and talking matters over, we decided to rest the pool 

 until the sun went off of it again. First kindling a 

 smudge, we passed the time pleasantly enough under the 

 shadow of some large spruce trees, watching the parr 

 (which on this branch are exceedingly plenty) continu- 

 ally leave the water in their attempts to capture food. 

 Soon the pool was in good shape again, but for some rea- 

 son, probably the low depth and clearness of the water, 

 we had no better success than in the mornings Tired of 

 this, we go down the river for perhaps a quarter of a 

 mile to a smaller and deeper pool, and in short order save 

 one fish and lose another. 



The sun was now fast declining behind the hills; and 

 as darkness sets in very quickly in these parts after sun- 

 set, I thought it would be wise to start for camp. My 

 companion said, "Oh, no; just wait a little longer till I 

 get that other fish; I know the way to the road, and once 

 on it we can find our way in the dark easily enough." 

 My confidence in his ability up to this time had not been 

 shaken, so I aquiesced and remained another half hour. 



"Now," said he," instead of wading back against this 

 strong current to where we came on the river, we will cut 

 in here and strike the road within fifteen minutes, as it 

 runs with the river and is not mere than a quarter of a 

 mile distant." 



We had hardly gone a dozen steps through the thick 

 brush, when right ahead of us was a perpendicular bank 

 of at least fifty feet in height. We climbed it, of course, 

 and for fifteen minutes or so traveled along the edge of a 

 spruce barren, a place where nothing but the spruce 

 grows around and above you, and moss, ranging from a 

 few inches to a foot or two, below. Next to an old piece 

 of burnt timber of say five years' standing, this is about 

 the toughest walking a man can find, and extremely de- 

 ceptive; for a few paces it is like walking oh fur, then 

 without the least warning down you go between the 

 moss-covered roots of some tree almost up to your mid- 

 dle. For variety's sake you next find your feet in the air 

 and your back or side on a nice soft stump, having 

 slipped on some old moss- covered and fallen tree. This 

 charming experience lasted for another fifteen or twenty 

 minutes, when suddenly we find ourselves in a stretch of 

 genuine old burnt woods. Verily "out of the frying pan 

 into the fire," "Oh, never mind, we will be out of this 

 in a few minutes," says my "guide;" but for nearly two 

 of the longest hours I ever remember passing did I strug- 

 gle and fight against bushes, briers and burnt trees; now 

 balancing myself on some old father of the forest in my 

 endeavor to discover a few feet of even walking, then 

 going down between a couple of others, scratched and 

 bleeding, besmirched from head to foot with the black- 

 ness from the. charred wood, and almost blinded by the 

 twigs continually striking my face and eyes. My rod of 

 course suffered untold indignities, and it is a marvel to 

 me to this day how it ever went through that ordeal 

 without serious injury. At last we come to the end of 

 this strip, and in a few moments, more from good luck 

 than good management, find the portage. 



To m ake up for 1 ost time we go along the road at a s wing- 

 ing gait until we reach a point where it branches off in 

 three directions. My ' 'guide" now thinks it the proper 

 time to air his knowledge of the woods again, and point- 

 ing says, "Oh, that is an old logging road and leads back 

 to the river where we came from, so unless we want to 

 waste precious time in retracing our steps we had better 

 take the other." Which other? There were still two left, 

 and one might just as well be wrong as "the other," they 

 both being much overgrown with ferns and brush. Well, 

 he took up the one that by the dim light appeared to be the 

 least obstructed, and started as he informed me for head- 

 quarters. After going for about half an hour he sug- 

 gested going back and trying the other; "this one ap- 

 pears a little strange to me." So back we trudge and 

 start on the right track as I am now positively assured. 

 A few words that I meekly let drop as to our being lost 

 again brought the sharp reply that I could not be ex- 

 pected to know much about Canadian woods, never hav- 

 ing had much experience in them before. So I shut my 

 mouth for another hour or so, thinking a good deal in the 

 meantime, however, and a man finds a good deal to pon- 

 der over under like circumstances. Visions of how long 

 that salmon would last us; when we would ever get to 

 see our companions again; whether we were on the road 

 to the headwaters of the Little Southwest Miramichi, some 

 thirty odd miles distant, or on some other equally pleas- 

 ant mission. How my family and friends would take it 

 when they heard of my bones being found by some old 

 trapper; or whether this was not the beginning of a life 

 of wandering which would inevitably end in serious dis- 

 aster, having only a rod and knife to forage with. All 

 these and many more of a like cheerful nature filled my 

 thoughts for the next hour. The moon now began to ap- 

 pear, and after tramping steadily for two full hours and 

 still not recognizing this as the road by which we came, 

 I began to get just the least bit worried and told my 

 "pathfinder" that I thought we were lost again. "Oh, 

 pshaw! was never lost in my life," says he. With all due 

 deference to his knowledge, I thought aloud that we both 

 were lost this time, and stopped short. 



It now seemed a most appropriate moment for me to 

 venture something on my own responsibility, so I said, 

 "We will go for one-half horn- more, by my watch, and 

 if by that time vjedo not strike the river, will build a shel- 

 ter, cook our fish and go to sleep until morning, when I 

 will be most happy to put myself in your charge again 

 for the rest of the day." We walked a full hour never- 

 theless, when suddenly, as if struck dumb, my companion 

 stopped and said, "Why, here is the river. Where in the 

 world are we?" Surely enough, there it was right at our 

 feet, about eighty feet down, and by a miracle only were 

 we saved from going headlong down the steep bank. 

 "Why, this is the main river," said I; but what part of it 

 neither of us knew. Knowing that by going up stream 

 we would sooner or later come to our camp, we scram- 

 bled down the bluff and started on our journey home at 

 last. The moon just gave light enough to make those 

 spots along the banks that were not directly in its rays 

 appear darker than ever. To avoid the worst rapids and 

 also the deep holes and pools, we were frequently forced 

 to cross and recross, sometimes in water up to the knees 

 and at others above the waist, slipping many times and 

 occasionally going down on all fours. To travel along 

 the banks was here quite impracticable, for what with 

 the thick brush and large boulders and loose rocks, it 

 would have been altogether too risky and tedious. We 

 trudged and labored in this manner for over three hours, 

 when finally we saw the camp-fire on the bank ahead. 



"What time do you suppose it is?" I asked my com- 

 panion. "Oh, about 8 o'clock I should think." "Well, 

 isn't it rather strange that there should not be any one 

 stirring about the camp and that the fire should not be 

 burning brighter if it were not later?" By the time we 

 reached and sat down by the fire, pretty thoroughly tired 

 out, it was 11:30 o'clock and everything fast asleep, of 

 course. 



Being naturally somewhat hungry. I was not long in 

 finding something to eat, and after' putting fresh logs on 

 the fire turned into my blanket bag and was asleep almost 

 as soon as I lay down. 



I don't trust myself any more with any one when in the 

 woods, except a native'; one such experience is apt to 

 last an ordinary mortal a lifetime. Instead of a four 

 mile walk with two hours to do it in, we disposed of eight 

 and a half hourB and covered about twelve miles. 



Next morning I found my bed of balsam boughs much 

 the best place, and neither was the anticipation of catch- 

 ing salmon or trout sufficient to get me out for the greater 

 part of the day. 



"Sore," did I hear you say? Well just a little, from the 

 top of my head to the soles of my feet. 



And the beauty of the whole thing is, that my com- 

 panion is now so much put out to think that I 'should 

 have mentioned our being lost twice on the same trip, 

 that he passes me by without a look. Big Reel. 



"NESSMUK." 



JUST a year before the day upon which "Nessiuuk's" last visit 

 in this life was made to his beloved hemlocks, he wrote the 

 last letter that. I ever received from him. It is pathetic in the 

 expression of hopelessness of again enjovirig the sports that he so 

 deliehtedin, and with the graphic description of which he had so 

 delighted his readers. His touching in ira expression of thank- 

 fulness for being once more permitted to behold tbe miracle of 

 spring, to see the coining of the birds, the opening of the flowers 

 and to hear tbe rush of the awakened streams: 



"Wellsboro, Pa., April 30, 18S9.— My Dear Bruins I just drop a 

 word to keep in line and ask how you find yourself after sucking 

 your paws all winter, as I assume you have. And how has the 

 'Slang' pulled through, and are the marshes yet green, and is the 

 boating good? 1 will not ask for tbe fishing and shooting because* 

 there isn't any. But there ought to be clear water", green grass, 

 spring flowers, etc. As for myself, 1 have scuffled through after 

 a fashion, which is more than I expected. The winter here has 

 been a pleasant one, and the spring is early. I gathered a lot of 

 wild wood flowers, the inst of this month, with full intention of 

 sending them to Mrs. Robinson, but procrastinated and dallied 

 till tbe flowers faded and the good intent went to infernal 

 pavement. Just now we are having a fine flood after a week of 

 rainy weather, which broke up a six weeks' dry spell and conse- 

 quent forest fires that were doing much damage. 



"After the water gets clear the trout will work their way up 

 stream, for we still have some trout left; but I shall not be abie to 

 look after them. I seldom get more than a half mile from my 

 favorite corner, and a little exercise exhausts tue for all day. 



''Ah, well, the green grass and the birds are here once more, 

 and I am here to take it all in. Bistnillah! but it is pleasant. 



"Let me hear from you, if only a few lines to let me know you 

 are extant and still able to enjoy the springtime of the vear. 

 Fraternally yours, the lame Wood-Duck." 



The withered bunch of wild flowers, Hepaticas and rose-colored 

 Clay tonias, the latter strangers in our woods, that were inclosed 

 with this letter, are a cherished memento of the rare old woods- 

 man, to whom the simplest of nature's gifts was a treasure. One 

 is reminded of Thoreau by the man and his writings, living so 

 close to nature and so observant of her moods, so apt to learn her 

 secrets, but he is more in sympathy with man than was the tran- 

 scendental recluse of Walden, more genial and therefore a more 

 delightful companion. It is greatly to be regretted that: be could 

 not have beeu persuaded to give the world his autobiography. He 

 seemed to thinK it not worth the doing, but what rare reading it 

 would have been one may guess by the little glimpses he has given 

 us of his life. 



I never saw him, but I feel as if I had been made acquainted with 

 him by the few characteristic letters received from him within 

 the past ten years, and when the news of his death came to me it 

 was as if a personal friend had passed away. 



He fought a brave fight for life at heavy odds, and long kept the 

 inevitable final conqueror at bay. Peace and eternal rest be unto 

 him. Awabsoose. 



Febrisbuugb, Vt., April 26. 



I was much grieved on seeing in the last number of Forest and 

 Stream that "Nessmuk" is dead. Though not personally ac- 

 quainted with him, I had for years past enjoyed rtading his 

 articles in your pap-r, and always hoped to meet him if I ever 

 again visited America, 



There was a peculiar strain in his writings, due, I think, to his 

 sensitiveness to the sounds and sights of wild nature, and to the 

 depth of his sympathies with both the lower animals and human 

 beings. One of the finest instances of his kind and loving nature 

 was that when he allowed the bear to go away unhurt, as described 

 in "Woodcraft." That little book ought to remain the standard 

 guide for those who go outing in the busb. One of its best features 

 is that it not only shows what is best to take in the way of "daffie," 

 bui also what need not be tak' n; for the mistake made by most 

 people is incumbering themselves with unnecessary things. 



A celebrated Arctic traveler once said that the more nearly he 

 was able to reduce his baggage to nothing, the more comfortable 

 he found himself, and most of those who have traveled a great 

 deal, with limited means of transport, must have come to the 

 same conclusion. Last vear a correspondent wrote in vonr paper 

 about the "change of heart" wbicb takes place in some sports- 

 men, causing t.bem to lose all pleasure in killing animals except 

 when actually required for food. Evidently Air. Sears had expe- 

 rienced that change. Judging from his writings, he seems also to 

 have thought himst If out of some orthodox superstitions in re- 

 ligious matters whir-h cause so much uncharitauleness, but h« had 

 found that "more excellent way" described by St. Paul in the 13th 

 chapter of Corinthians, and also with beauty aud brevity by a 

 Hiudoo writer in an ancient Sanscrit drama, where he says: 

 "He that to all living creatures naught but loving kindness shews. 

 Hath the truest, best religion; good men pity e'en their foes." 



I think this verse would make an appropriate epitaph for "Ness- 

 muk's" tombstone. J. J. Meyriok. 



England. 



