346 



FOREST AND STREAM, 



[Nov. 20, 1890. 



MOOSE RIVER AND THE WEST BRANCH. 



x. 



WHEN we returned to the Northwest Carry, the 

 West Branch was so high from the rain that the 

 water flowed from it to Carry Pond, instead of in the 

 opposite direction, as it did when we passed through 

 before; so that we went with the current both times, 

 though traveling in opposite directions. I have noticed 

 this same change in current in Lobster Stream, which 

 connects Lobster Lake, or Peskebegot, with the West 

 Branch, seven miles below the lower Seeboomook Fall. 

 The carry was very wet and muddy, and in places the 

 legs of our rubber boots were none too long. We went 

 down the lake that afternoon as far as the mouth of the 

 Socateau River. We had been afraid that we might be 

 windbound at the carry; but the weather was propitious, 

 and the distance of sixteen miles was across an unruffled 

 surface, though the sky was overcast with dark and 

 threatening clouds. Ktaadn showed faintly through the 

 haze, and the other mountains on the eastern shore rolled 

 away in long waves of light and shadow. 



While rounding Socateau Point, a few puffs of wind, 

 which we feared' might be the precursors of a storm, 

 caused us to paddle a little faster; but they soon died 

 away. That part of the lake between Socateau Point and 

 Farm Island has a bad reputation for contrary winds and 

 disagreeable, choppy seas, which has given it the sobri- 

 quet of the Devil's Blow-Hole; so we were fortunate in 

 not encountering a "blow." 



At the mouth of the Socateau is a good shanty, which 

 was dry and not so dirty but we made it habitable by 

 sweeping the debris from the floor. Most of these 

 deserted camps and log cabins have a damp, musty odor, 

 which makes the open air or a tent preferable, but this 

 one was well ventilated, and we passed the night in it. 



The day had been well nigh perfect and the evening 

 was one to be remembered. The shore in the vicinity 

 was rough and rocky, but in front of the camp was a 

 small beach of yellow sand, on which the four canoes 

 were drawn up, forming a pretty foreground to the pic- 

 ture before us. The great lake, whose glassy surface 

 glistened with the sheen of the setting sun, stretched 

 away in long reaches of silvery light to the eastward. 



Rising above Farm Island were Kineo and the Blue 

 Ridge, and across the bay, Tomhegan Mountain was 

 clearly cut against the sky. 



Several small ledgy islands, on which are a few stunted 

 trees, lie half a mile off shore, and so perfect was the 

 reflection that the waterline could hardly be distin- 

 guished. The sun went down like a ball of fire behind 

 the forest, its red disc burning through the trees and 

 causing every leaf and twig in its path to stand out in 

 bold relief. 



The mountains, trees and islands seemed to float in the 

 hazy atmosphere, which softened their outlines and 

 colors as they faded away in the far-reaching and dreamy 

 perspective. 



In the morning the fog obscured the further shore of 

 the lake, but the sun soon burned through it. 



We went up the Socateau four miles to the pool at the 

 foot of the falls, where we caught some fish which bit 

 well, though they were all small. A short distance above 

 the mouth we started a herd of five deer, which went 

 bounding away with prodigious leaps over logs and 

 bushes, and further up we saw a little spotted fawn 

 standing on the bank. 



The Socateau is a pretty stream of dark-colored water, 

 with but a slight current. Near its mouth a good many 

 trees have been killed by water, but beyond, the spruces 

 and hackmatacks bend over it gracefully. A fringe of 

 lilypads extends along by the banks, on which the deer 

 come to feed. From the Socateau we went across twelve 

 miles to Kineo, whence we had the steamer take us to 

 the head of Spencer Bay, fifteen miles further. 



Spencer Bay extends from the narrows, five miles to 

 the northeast, and is the most solitary part of the lake. 

 Three streams empty into it; Lucky Brook, Spencer 

 Stream and Roach River. At the head of the bay the 

 two mountains, Kokadjo and Sabotawan, stand alone; 

 and nestling under the shadow of Kokadjo is a pond 



rarely found, except in the more remote regions of the 

 forest, and were the largest I ever saw in Maine, one of 

 them being little short of 4ft. in diameter, and the others 

 not much smaller. On the further side was a knoll which 

 looked as if it might be a good camp site, and as|we feared 

 from the swampy nature of the^pond that the mosquitoes 

 would trouble us, we wanted % avoid camping directly 

 on the shore. We crossed over and liked the appearance 

 of the spot. The tents were pitched, and luckily we were 

 troubled by insects the least we had been in any place. 



Camp Kokadjo, as we named it, had the most pictur- 

 esque and romantic outlook of any of our temporary 

 homes. It was situated on the top of the knoll, at the 

 foot of which was a, clean, pebbly shore- and was sur- 

 rounded by Norway pines, spruces and hackmatacks. 

 Back of the tents the rugged bulk of the mountain, 

 Kokadjo, frowned over us, rising above the forest which 

 clothes its feet. Its sides showed great ledges and cliffs 

 of bare rock, worn smooth by the storms of centuries, 

 and where there was soil enough, the trees waved above 

 the dizzy heights. To the northwest were the Lobster 

 Mountains only a few miles away, and to the northeast 

 we had a glimpse of Sabotawan, peering over the 

 shoulder of Kokadjo. Standing in the tent door we 

 looked across the lonely waters of the little lake and at 

 the encircling forest. Wild currants, blueberries and 

 mountain cranberries were growing all about us. We 

 went to the southeast inlet for the evening fishing, taking 

 a pail along in which to get some drinking water from 

 the brook, for the pond water was warm. There is a 

 pool at the mouth of the inlet and two others up the 

 brook. We fished till we had a mess for breakfast, and 

 then went up stream till the water became cold, when 

 we filled the pail. We took no trout of over half a pound 

 in weight, though now and again a huge fish would rise 

 to the surface, lazily turn over and disappear, giving us 

 a tantalizing glimpse of his proportions. Immediately 

 several seductive flies vsould drop lightly to the widening 

 circles of the agitated water, and cast would follow cast, 

 but the big fellows ignored all of our efforts in their be- 

 half. 



They were feeding on some small black insects which 

 were flitting over the water, and our fly books offered no 

 attractions. The setting sun cast a long bridge of trem- 

 bling light across the pond, and water and sky to the 

 westward were diffused with a golden, roseate glow, 

 shot with rays of tender violet, which deepened to a 

 purple, which in turn faded to blue. 



The sun sank below the mountain sky line and thegray 

 twilight stole upon the scene. The last rays lingered on 

 the hoary summit of Kokadjo, and the Lobster Moun- 

 tains cast their dark shadows in the still water. 



Here and there some great pine and spruce towered 

 above the other trees of the dark and mysterious forest, 

 and the plaintive chant of a white-throated sparrow was 

 the only sound which broke the silence. 



No one who has not experienced it can appreciate the 

 solemn, almost supernatural, stillness which pervades 

 these solitudes, especially at nightfall. 



As we returned across the lonely lake a feeling of awe 

 crept over us, though we had all many times seen the 

 sun sink behind the forest and had the night enfold us in 

 its dusky garment when we were miles from any fellow 

 man. 



The light canoes, guided by noiseless paddles, bore us 

 on past the silent shore and under the black shadow of 

 the overhanging mountain, and it seemed as if we were 

 drifting into another world. It was a scene such as a 

 Dante or a Dore might have chosen as a background, 

 against which to depict some wild fancy of his brain, and 

 as we looked the cry of a loon added the only touch which 

 was needed to emphasize the weird loneliness and com- 

 plete the feeling of isolation. 



Our fire sent forth a cheering gleam, however, and as 

 we gathered around it we felt that in it we had a friend 

 which would always give us a warm welcome and make 

 us feel "at home." We spent a Sunday at Camp Kokadjo, 

 passing a quiet, restful day, which was acceptable after 

 the activity of the week. During our stay we fished 

 at both inlets with about equal success — plenty of trout, 

 but all small. Harry gave us a little excitement one 

 morning by putting a fourth fly on his leader, and then 

 hooking four fish, of which he landed two. Our greatest 

 annoyance was in taking so many fish too small to keep 

 and returning them to their element. The brooks had 

 which the Indians call Kokadjeweemgwasebemsis. ^This I an unlimited supply of the little six and seven- inch f el- 

 pond was our objective point, and the little steamer took | lows. Two of the best ones we got I took at one cast at 

 us to the mouth of Spencer Stream, which is its outlet. 1 tlie northwest inlet. They fought well and gave good 

 We went ashore, the steamer became smaller and smaller r sport before Francis had them in the net. Francis him- 

 as she sped away from us, and once again the link be- self was very "handy" with a rod, as were the other 

 tween us and civilization was broken. We cooked our | guides, and it was a pleasure to see him cast. Standing 

 dinner and then set out for the pond, two miles distant, [erect in the canoe or on some point of rock, his sinewy 

 Spencer Stream is not navigable; it is shallow and ' wrist manipulated the pliant rod, sending the flies to any 

 rocky, but canoes may be dragged up. There is a path on ' desired spot in a manner calculated to deceive the most 



- wary trout. 



One night when up the inlet after water we explored 

 the brook for a mile, and as it is crooked, narrow and 

 choked with alders, and the woods were already dark, we 

 had quite an experience before we got back to the mouth. 

 Twice a startled deer crashed through the bushes, one of 

 which was an old buck which barked at us from his 

 retreat, and now and then a musquash would splash into 

 the stream or swim silently past under the bank. But 

 after a struggle with the barriers which blocked the way, 

 and which seemed to be tripled by the darkness, we re- 

 turned to camp. 



At the northwest inlet were several floating islands, 

 composed of tangled masses of grass and lily roots, logs 

 and drift wood, on which soil had collected and grass and 

 small bushes taken root. Once while fishing there I saw 

 a loon fly by only a few rods distant. This was the only 

 time I ever saw one of these birds on the wing, for the 

 great northern diver is much more at home in the water 

 than in the air. Harry and I explored the shores of the 

 pond one morning, and during our circuit we started six 

 deer. At the western end were some musquash houses. 



We walked up an old "tote" road which runs around 

 the base of the mountain, but which is now used only 

 by the deer. They had a path as well defined as a cow 

 path in a pasture, and our foot prints mingled with those 

 of deer, moose and caribou. With the exception of the 

 deer path, the road was almost obliterated by the en- 

 croachments of the forest. The caribou and moose both 

 make large tracks, but the former's is wide and round 

 and deeper at the sides than in the middle, while that of 

 the latter is pointed arid of equal depth. 



William Austin Brooks. 



turpi l§mtarg> 



the right bank, which I have heard called a "good road," 

 and over this trail we walked, leaving the guides to 

 follow the stream. They waded through the water over 

 slippery stones, dragging the canoes, but their road was 

 quite as good as ours, which was one long, miry bog, 

 filled with mud, water, rocks and logs, with an occasional 

 strip of rickety corduroy. 



We splashed through the water, stuck in the mud, 

 leaped from one stone to another, balanced on slippery 

 logs, and walked carefully along the corduroy, which 

 was mostly a "hollow mockery, a delusion, and a snare." 

 As the road was near the stream we went xmrt way with 

 the guides, through the water, and found it about as easy 

 traveling. 



These "tote" roads are used by the lumbermen in the 

 winter when the snow lies deep in the woods, and all 

 that is required is an open path, for the snow covers all 

 stumps, stones and inequalities. But in the summer they 

 are about as bad as one can imagine. However, we 

 arrived in good season at the pond, and the next question 

 was where to camp. 



This pond is nearly circular and is a mile and a half in 

 diameter, with a good portion of its surface covered with 

 lily pads, grasses and aquatic plants, giving much of it a 

 swampy appearance. There is some good fishing usually 

 at the two inlets, and the vicinitv is one of the best local- 

 ities for large game. There is *a dam and a gate at the 

 outlet, by which the lumbermen hold back the water 

 when necessary. We came out on the shore near the 

 outlet, and at about the same time the guides paddled 

 under the gate. Three iuxmense logs, so large that thero 

 had not been water enough to float them down, lay in 

 the stream just below the dam, They were of a size now 



THE LION OF FACT AND OF FANCY. 



ICmicluded from Page .W8.1 1 



E may now inquire into the right of the lion to the 

 title of "king of beasts" as resting on other grounds 

 than his laziness, audacity and destructiveness, Buffon 

 and the French encyclopedists, relying upon the reports 

 of the earlier travelers — Bernier, Le Vaillant and the 

 rest— say it was given him on account of his virtues! 

 Prof. Phil. Robinson ("Under the Sun") suggests that it 

 was not for the reason that he was so brave and so cour- 

 ageous that the lion was so called; and "not because he 

 had any of the kingly virtues, but because he had all the 

 kingly vices" — for the same reason, in fact, which placed 

 the""ureus" upon the headdress of an Egyptian king and 

 induces a chief in modern Africa to wear the lion's claws 

 and imitate his walk. The title may sometimes have ex- 

 hibited a certain element of derision also, but far more 

 probably it had its origin in fear. His most regal appear- 

 ance has not been denied by any writers except Living- 

 stone and Selous. The former, as we have seen, is 

 reminded by the lion of an enlarged dog, which state- 

 ment, by the way, may not be so detractive as it was in- 

 tended to be. Selous disparages his majesty of mien 

 more deliberately. "To look majestic," he remarks, "a 

 lion should hold his head high, and this he seldom does. 

 When at bay * * * no animal can look more unpleasant 

 than a lion; but there is nothing majestic or noble in his 

 appearance." Perhaps this maybe to a great extent a 

 question of taste, but probably most persons who have 

 seen the animal, even in captivity, will side with Harris, 

 Leveson, Baker, Gerard, etc., in thinking his form and 

 carriage awe-inspiring and imposing. That such, at least, 

 has been the general verdict, plainly appears from the 

 forms of speech which have found their way into several 

 languages. Apart from this, the lion is a ruthless marau- 

 der, who lives by rapine, murder and fraud. His way of 

 living is strikingly like that of a typical negro king, and 

 it is not at all surprising that he should be held in high 

 respect by savages, who invariably venerate whatever 

 inspires them with apprehension. 



As for the lion's voice, that which is said of it is equally 

 discrepant with reports or his other characteristics. 

 Drummond denies that it has "any resemblance to 

 thunder," but the North African Arabs have only one 

 word to express both sounds. Walking by night on the 

 ramparts at Guelma, Gerard came to a silent group of 

 Spahis. "The full moon that silvered all the landscape 

 fell on their white bournous and their bronzed faces." He 

 tells that upon them all there was "an expression of sad- 

 ness." Listen! said an Arab officer. "I listened, and 

 heard a distant sound — now sharp, now heavy, but which 

 appeared extremely loud, judging from the distance from 

 which it came. * * * That is the lion, the lion of 

 Archioua," he said, and Gerard's heart "leaped for joy," 

 as bis fate announced itself by that "deep unparalleled 

 voice, whose echoes were repeated from hill to hill, 

 •x- * * When it ceased I shivered from head to foot." 

 Of course the impression varies with the temperament 

 and mental state of the listener; but at the same time its 

 physical qualities must be positive, and indeed those of 

 volume and intensity have been usually acknowledged, 

 Leveson, Selous and others have described the tiembling 

 of the air and the feeling of immense power the lion's 

 roar produces, though Andersson and Gordon Cumming 

 are those who have portrayed it most completely, since 

 they set before us the phenomenon, its general effects and 

 the special circumstances under which that effect is most 

 intensified. 



The lion lives by hunting; how does he take his prey? 

 Gerard says the Algerian lion has "great speed and an 

 unequalled agility, but he is never known to chase his 

 prey." It is easy to assert that this trait is characteristic 

 of the cat-mammalia generally, and corresponds to their 

 special structure; but the evidence does not sustain the 

 conclusion. Cats are not formed to run, but neverthe- 

 less they do ?o. Wherever the lion exists he sometimes 

 hunts in troops, and in India the troop pursues the game 

 much like a pack of wild dogs, and with the same man- 

 euvers. In Africa, hower, there is no coursing, the line 

 of animals driving the game by allowing it to get their 

 wind, so that others stationed by its run are enabled to 

 seize it. Except when the lion "may be said to storm a 

 douar, or kraal, or camp, he stalks or ambushes his vic- 

 tims. This is in accordance with the statements of the 

 majority of writers on this subject; although some, like 

 Andersson and Delgorgue, J ook upon the atta ck by surprise 

 as almost invariable. The latter, while insisting upon 

 this, and affirming that the lion is as "abject a coward" 

 as Sanderson ("Thirteen Years Among the Wild Beasts of 

 India") declares the tiger to be, absurdly adds that he 

 kills the white rhinoceros in this way, an animal formid- 

 ably armed, and only second in bulk to the elephant. 

 "Maintes fois trouvai-je des rhinoceros de la plus haute 

 faille, que ni leur poids, ni leur force, ni leur fureur, 

 n'avaient preserver de la mort." Dr. Jerclon recapitulates 

 the methods mentioned, but states that the chase often 

 combines the stalk and ambush, but not always; while 

 Selous seems to have summed up the whole subject in 

 saying he does "not think that lions have any fixed way 

 of killing," but believes "they employ different tactics 

 against different animals." Major Bevan ("Thirty Years 

 in India") saw a tiger strike his claws through the skull 

 of a bullock. Sir Samuel Baker ("Nile Tributaries of 

 Abyssinia") witnessed the same in the case of his com- 

 panion Florian, killed by a lion. Without multiplying 

 references, the beast fights with talon, fang and forearm, 

 and though contradictions are found in regard to the 

 mode of assault and method of killing, these arise from 

 improper generalization— the facts are all true, the infer- 

 ence only is false— viz., that limited individual experi- 

 ence represents an invariable procedure, 



Buffon asserts that the lion bounds upon his prey with 

 leaps of fourteen feet. Delgorgue increases this to 

 eighteen, and Selous says that he comes with a rush of 

 "such lightning-like rapidity" as no other animal can 

 equal, but that the pace itself is "a clumsy- looking 

 gallop." Thunberg ("A Description of the Cape") tells us 

 that a lion will leap a fence four feet high with an ox in 

 his mouth. Maj. Leveson has known him to clear the 

 stockade of a kraal seven feet high similarly weighted. 

 His bound "when about to spring upon his prey" Andes- 

 son estimates at from twenty- five to thirty feet, and 



