226 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Oct. 9, 1890. 



tartsnim ^anrisi 



MOOSE RIVER AND THE WEST BRANCH. 



I. 



IN the great wilderness which covers the northern part 

 of the State of Maine, and extends across the line 

 into Canada, is a lake whose area is larger than that of 

 any other body of fresh water in New England. It is 

 surrounded by the forest, and on its four hundred miles 

 of shore line there is only one village, and the clearings 

 are few. It is guarded on all sides by rugged mountains, 

 some rising directly from its waters, while others are dim 

 and blue in the distance. By the Indians it is called 

 Sebamook, but it is better known as Moosehead. 



The lake is thirty-eight miles in length, and its width 

 varies from fourteen miles, which is the distance from 

 the east outlet to the head of Spencer Bay, to a mile and 

 a half, the distance from the mouth of Moose River to 

 Kineo Mountain. The shores are very irregular and are 

 indented by ma.ny bays and coves, of which Spencer Bay, 

 almost another lake 'by itself, is the largest, being five 

 miles from the narrows to the head. Its surface is dotted 

 with islands, ranging in size from the little sandbar with 

 its few bushes to those whose extent is reckoned by acres. 



The basin of Moosehead is a vast reservoir, from which 

 the noble river Kennebec flows to the Atlantic; and only 

 two miles from its northern end are the waters of that 

 other great artery of Maine, the Penobscot. The Kenne- 

 bec flows over the great dam at the outlet, and for twenty- 

 five miles, or as far as the Forks, is known as the East 

 Branch. The Forks are the junction of the East Branch 

 and the Dead River, which forms the true Kennebec. 

 Moosehead's principal inflowing stream is Moose River, 

 which comes in from the west, about midway of the lake, 

 after flowing through a chain of smaller lakes and ponds. 



Directly opposite the mouth of Moose River is Kineo 

 Mountain, the most prominent landmark of the Moose- 

 head region. Kineo juts into the lake from the eastern 

 shore, and there are but few points from which it cannot 

 be seen. An arm of the lake sets in behind it, forming 

 Kineo Bay, from whose water rises the great precipice, 

 763ft. in height, which forms the eastern face of the 

 mountain. Kineo is a solid mass of flint or hornstone, 

 and was a great rendezvous for the aborigines of New 

 England, who resorted to it in quest of material for arrow 

 heads and other implements. It is the largest mass of 

 this substance known. Many other noble mountains 

 tower above the Moosehead water, the two Spencer peaks, 

 Kokadjo and Sabotawan, east of Kineo, the City Bay 

 group, Old Squaw, near the foot of the lake, the Blue 

 Ridge, parallel to whose base flows Moose River, and 

 Bald Mountain to the northwest, are among the most 

 prominent, and from several parts of the lake, notably 

 the North Bay, fine, though distant views may be had of 

 Mt. Ktaadn, which rears its lofty summit far away 

 beyond the Chesuncook forest. 



II. 



There is an old saying in the State, that Maine was 

 made for the lumber business, and surely with this end in 

 view there seems to be nothing wanting. The country is 

 crossed and recrossed by a net work of lakes and streams, 

 which afford the lumberman a means of transporting his 

 logs to the settlements and the mills. Millions and mil- 

 lions of feet of lumber go over the East Outlet dam and 

 down the Kennebec every season, while other millions 

 are borne by the Penobscot and its branches. 



In the fall the crews go to the localities which are to be 

 operated on during the winter, and live till spring in a 

 little world of their own. They are divided under three 

 heads — the swampers, the choppers and the teamsters. 

 The swampers build the roads and dams, the choppers 

 fell the trees, and the teamsters haul the logs to the banks 

 of the streams, where they are piled in readiness to be 

 sent down in the spring. 



After the ice goes out comes the great spring drive. 

 The logs, each one of which has the owner's private mark 

 cut into it, are rolled into the stream, now swollen by the 

 melting of the winter's snow, and their long journey is 

 begun. Down the stream go the logs, floating slowly 

 along the dead water, plunging over falls and hurrying 

 through the rapids. The drivers follow them, giving 

 those which become stranded on the shore a new start, 

 and breaking, often at the risk of their lives, the jams 

 which are sure to form. On the lakes which have to be 

 crossed the logs are rafted, towed across to the outlet, and 

 again turned loose, to continue on their impetuous voy- 

 age. An apparatus called a ' 'head works" is used in the 

 process of rafting the logs. It consists of a raft, on which 

 is a rude but strong log capstan, and usually a shanty 

 in which the men eat and sleep. The "headworks" is an- 

 chored in any desired place, and after the drive has passed 

 it is left till the next year. On Moosehead the rafts are 

 towed across by steamers. 



The river driver's insignia of office is the cant-dog and 

 his ruler is the boss driver, whose authority is analogous 

 to that of the captain of a ship. Logs belonging to many 

 different owners go charging down many little streams 

 to the main rivers, down which they journey in company. 

 As they approach civilization and the mills they are col- 

 lected in booms and assorted. Each owner here takes 

 his own and those for miles further down stream are 

 again sent on their way. 



During the summer prospectors go to the forest, timber 

 suitable for commercial purposes is located and the tracts 

 surveyed. In the autumn batteaux of provisions, the 

 greater bulk consisting of pork, beans, flour and molasses, 

 are sent to the logging camps and another campaign 

 against the forest is begun. Lumbering is hard, con- 

 tinuous work — from sunrise till dark, day after day — but 

 a hardy, manly life, withal; and the men enjoy it and re- 

 turn to their free life in the woods gladly. 



The roads made by the swampers serve tl*eir purpose 

 in the winter, when the snow lies deep and level under 

 the evergreen trees, but in summer they become simply 

 trails through the forest, almost impassable and used 

 only by the deer and moose. So too, many of the streams 

 which are raging torrents when the logs are rolled into 

 them degenerate into laughing brooks, which would 

 hardly float a stick of cordwood. 



Moosehead Lake is now touched by a railroad, which 

 lands passengers at its foot, but it is still a lake of the 

 woods, and retains its charm as a bit of primeval nature. 

 At no place is its beauty marred by so called camps, which 

 are really modern houses with modern conveniences, 



whose owners make a pretense of "roughing it." At 

 Kineo is a hotel which provides every comfort, but it is 

 in the midst of a wilderness. From time immemorial a 

 route from Canada to the coast has gone by way of 

 Sebamook, and it is now the gateway to the great forest 

 region in which are the headwaters of the Kennebec, the 

 Penobscot and the St. John. The Indian, the hunter and 

 the lumberman, the lover of nature, the angler and the 

 sportsman, all cross the broad expanse of Moosehead 

 Lake en route to their labor or their pleasure. 



The West Branch of the Penobscot is only two miles 

 distant from tbe head of the lake, and may be reached 

 either by the North West or the North East Carry. From 

 UmbazookskusLake to Mud Pond another two mile carry 

 leads from Penobscot to Allagash waters, which flow to 

 the St. John. And so, although the country is a wilder- 

 ness in which savage, uncompromising nature holds full 

 sway, the intricate tangle of water courses furnishes 

 highways by which any point may be reached. 



The Indians and others familiar with the woods know 

 the routes as we who dwell in the cities know the streets. 

 If we wish to go to a cersaiu place in the town, we go, 

 perhaps down a street, around a corner, across a square 

 and up another street, and so on till we arrive at our des- 

 tination. 



In like manner the voyageur in the forest paddles his 

 light canoe down a stream, acro?s a lake, makes a carry 

 to another lake, from which he descends or ascends an- 

 other stream, and finally he steps ashore at his journey's 

 end. 



As we may know which are the best hotels and the 

 places of amusement, he knows where are the best camp- 

 ing sites and good localities for game. 



Many men of many mindo" go to the woods, bub the 

 true lover of nature goes with a feeling almost of rever- 

 ence, for he is leaving everything hollow and artificial 

 behind him and is to enter in among the beautiful and 

 wonderful works of nature as they came from the hand 

 of the Creator. 



IIT. 



We read much about the wild Indians of the AVest. 

 but it is seldom that the journals of the day contain any - 

 thing pertaining to the more civilized red men of the 

 East. Yet in New Eagland the remnants of once pow- 

 erful tribes still exist. On the islands in the Penobscot 

 River dwells a tribe of the Etchinnis nation, known as 

 the Penobscot tribe. They own the islands and have 

 their principal settlement on a large one, known as the 

 Indian Island, near the village of Oldtown, which is itself 

 on an island which was sold to the whites many years 

 ago. 



Here the Penobscots had a peaceful existence, electing 

 their own governor and sending a representative to the 

 Maine State Legislature. The men spend much of their 

 time in the woods of the great northern wilderness, at 

 the threshold of which they live, finding employment in 

 the lumber camps and on the drives. They also act as 

 guides for sportsmen, and go hunting and trapping: on 

 their own account. The cultivation of a few vegetables 

 is the extent of their farming. 



The women manufacture quantities of fancy baskets, 

 which are sold at various seaside resorts during the sum- 

 mer, and the men build birch canoes for sale as well as 

 for their own use. 



One summer afternoon I stood on the bank of the Pe- 

 nobscot and raised the white flag, which is the ferryman's 

 signal. A few moments later I was crossing to the Indian 

 Island in a batteau which was propelled by a dark- 

 skinned Penobscot. I was in quest of an Indian to 

 accompany me on a trip to the woods, and I wanted to 

 get Francis Soccalexis, a trusty man and a good guide. 



I found Francis on the island, and as I shook his hand 

 I asked, "Well. Francis, do you want to go on a trip with 

 me?" 



"Yes, I like to go; don't like to stay in village so well 

 like to live in woods better," and his eyes glistened as the 

 instincts of his race found expression in his words. "You 

 comin' this way; go right to Moosehead from here?" 



"No," I explained, "I want you to meet me at Moose 

 River Bridge. There are three of us going; and I have 

 guides coming for the other two. Dennis is going to cook 

 for us." 



"That's good; Dennis is a nice fellow, good cook," for 

 Francis and Dennis are the best of friends. 

 After we had arranged the preliminaries and fixed the 



Francis could bestow. In front of some of the houses 

 were camp-fires, over which water was boiling in kettles, 

 and preparations were in progress for the evening meal, 

 for though these people dwell in houses they retain many 

 of their primitive methods. 



Canoe3 were seen turned bottom up at many of the 

 houses, ready for use, as one has one's horse at the gate. 

 In the doorways and at windows sat squaws busily en- 

 gaged in weaving sweet grass and colored splints into 

 aaskets of various shapes, and they glanced curiously to 

 see whom Francis had for a companion and at the camera 

 which I carried. Two of them, whom I knew, I requpsted 

 to sit for their photographs; one consented without urg- 

 ing, and I secured her picture with the unfinished basket 

 in her lap and a pile of material at her feet. Then I said 

 to the other: "You see, Mary, the operation is not dan- 

 gerous; you had better let me take yours too." and she 

 went into the house, to reappear in a few moments with 

 the announcement that she was ready. But she had 

 changed tbe gray dress which she had worn and which 

 draped itself in graceful folds for a new calico of strik- 

 ing design, which did not add to the picturesqueness of 

 her appearance. However, I took another picture, and 

 before X had the apparatus packed her change of dress 

 was again made. 



On our return to the landing we stopped to chat with 

 an old man, Louis Pielsaux, who was building one of 

 those craft peculiar to his people, a birch canoe. He had 

 just cut the bark into the required shape and had it on a 

 raised platform, where it was held in position by large 

 stones, placed inside. On the ground was another canoe 

 nearly ready for use, and several more were drawn up 

 on the shore. "Birch is gettin' putty source now," said 

 the old man. "Have to go good ways back in woods 

 now for get bark big enough for canoe. Used to go one 

 day and back the next and find tree, but can't do so no 

 more. Spruce and cedar too, used to grow all round here, 

 most all gone now, cutoff, burnt off, allgoin' putty fast." 



In making a canoe the birch bark is stretched over a 

 frame of cedar, and spruce roots are used to sew the 

 seams and bind the parts together. The seams, cracks 

 and holes are made water-tight with pitch and the forest 

 furnishes all the material for this boat of tradition and 

 romance. The paddles are of rock maple and the setting 

 poles of spruce. 



Francisliad a good birch, but it was rather heavy, and 

 he said he should take a canvas-covered canoe on our 

 trip. The Indians always speak of a canoe as a "birch," 

 and this appellation clings also to those of canvas, which 

 are built on the same model as the boat of bark. The 

 canvas canoes are somewhat lighter and are cleanlier, 

 the use of pitch not being required. 



When the waning sunlight warned me that I must re- 

 turn I stepped into the batteau, and as I floated across 

 the dark water of the river I felt that I was on a stream 

 which separates the dim past from the present practical 

 age. For there, on the shore which I was leaving, was 

 old Louis Pielsaux building his birch canoe as his fathers 

 built them long before the white man ever saw the river; 

 and ahead, looming darkly against the sky, were the brick 

 walls and tall chimneys of a great mill. On one side of 

 the current the Indian Island, on the other the railroad 

 and the factory. William Austin Brooks. 



CAMP ON BLUE RIVER. 



SOUTHERN INDIANA has many beautiful camping 

 grounds. Along the banks of the Blue River and 

 other streams, shady groves, gravelly beaches, swift cur- 

 rents and deep pools, springs of pure cold water, welling 

 from out the base of rocky wall, go gurgling into the 

 stream. Giant plane trees grow by the side of the spread- 

 ing elm, che odorous Balm of Gilead has for a neighbor 

 the stately ash, near by is the sugar maple, with a sturdy 

 oak interlocking branches with the sweet sap giver. From 

 this point to the mouth of the river, nine miles by road 

 and thirty odd by water, more varieties of trees can be 

 found than exist in a state of nature on almost any other 

 territory of equal scope. It is a field for botanists. The 

 alternate hills and little sequestered valleys afford a variety 

 of verdure seldom equalled. The geologist would also 

 find much to attract attention. Here is the cavernous 

 limestone formation. Within a mile of our camp is the 

 famous Wyandotte Cave, with its 26 miles of subteran- 

 „ eous passages, its underground mountains, great halls 

 date we strolled over the island From the place where j and pillared domes, a grand study of itself . . It is still in 

 the batteau grates against the shore runs a road which is , the family, Rothrocks, who have owned it from the 

 the only street in the Indian village. On either side are i earliest settlement of the country, about the beginning 

 the houses, most of them gray and weather beaten, but ( of the present century. What a grand time the vVyan- 

 here and there is one smart with paint. On the right of dotte chief and his tribe must have had about here bef ore 

 the road and a few steps from the landing is the Catholic { the white men came to disturb him. And just think 

 chapel and beside it a shrine, for the Penobscots still | what happiness there would have been m this country it 

 follow the faith taught to their fathers by the Jesuit mis- Colombo had never come here. By the way, what a 

 sionaries, who were the first white men to penetrate these 1 great old humbug he was. He went over to Iceland, lis : 



northern wilds. On the left and almost opposite the 

 chapel is the house of the present governor, Sol Neptune. 

 A few rods further is the graveyard, beyond which the 

 road gradually degenerates into a footpath, which strag- 

 gles along a devious course and is finally lost in a swampy 

 meadow. In the graveyard one reads the names of men 

 who have been leaders of the tribe, and one inscription I 

 copied, that of Francis's father: 



Govebnok 

 THOMAS SOCCALEXIS. 



DIED 



September 30, 1870. 

 Mt. 68 Years. 



He was governor of the Penobscot tribe at Oldtown 

 thirty-five years. He was an honest upright man, loved 

 and respected by all his people. That is an epitaph which 

 any man might be proud to have. Near the gate is the 

 grave of Joseph Polis, whom Thoreau has immortalized. 

 Polis guided the Concord naturalist on his last journey to 

 the Maine woods, and died five years ago. His widow 

 still lives on the island, an aged woman; and on his house 

 is still seen a small sign with the legend, 



JOSEPH POLIS, : 

 : Dealeb in Baskets and Canoes. ■ 



"I suppose you knew Polis, did you not, Francis?" "Oh! 

 yes, he was fine man ; great hunter when he was young 

 man," was the reply in a tone which indicated that this 

 praise of his qualities as a hunter was the greatest which. 



tened to recitals of Sagas, gathered up manuscripts and 

 map?, which with the help of his friend, the priest Mar- 

 chena, in translating, told the way to the new country. 

 Miscalculations, or bad seamanship, took him to South 

 instead of North America, but all the same, the hordes of 

 Europeans followed him and the fun of the Indians was 

 spoiled. This thing called civilization is not what it is 

 cracked up to be. However, a few spots have escaped 

 the hands of the spoiler and Island Camp is one of them. 



I have no big fish stories to tell of our party, but just 

 before we came another set of campers a half mile below 

 caught five large pike (Dr. Jordan says they are the mas- 

 kalonge of the North), the smallest weighing 71 bs. and 

 the largest 211bs. We caught bass, sunfish and channel 

 cat, and the latter are very toothsome. I have eaten 

 whitefish on Lake Michigan, trout from the Big Sioux, 

 cooked by Mother Hochdanner, near the south shore of 

 Lake Superior, and I wont say that Blue River channel 

 cat quite equal either of them; but they are very good. 

 And turtle! I wonder how many readers of Forest and 

 Stream ever tasted snapping- turtle soup. Here is the 

 boss recipe for preparing the delectable dish: First cut 

 off the head and leave two hours or longer to bleed. 

 Douse it in boiling hot water. All the outward scales, 

 are easily removed. Cut the claws, unjoint the legs from 

 the under shell, split the belly and remove entrails, take ; 

 off upper shell, cut up the meat, with the shell, and stew. j 

 If all the meat is not needed for soup take out a portioDj 

 after stewing, fry or boil to taste, and it will almost equal 

 frogs' legs. Then brown some flour and stir in slowly 

 if desired use tomatoes, corn, potatoes, an onion or othei, 

 vegetables, salt, pepper and other condiments to taste 

 It is good, especially in camp. 



