IS 2 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Maecb fi, 1881. 



IN THE REGION ROUND NICATOWIS. 



XVI.— DOW NICATOWIS BRANCH. 



WE got off early the next morning while as yet the 

 white frost made both ground and air chilly. As 

 we approached Darling's, seeing no smoke nor aiiy sign 

 of life, we thought to pass unseen; but when we were 

 still quite a distance away a man came to the doorway, 

 and we caught the shine of a field glsss leveled on us. 

 We drew up alongside of the landing and the man came 

 down for a chat. It was Charier Mqrey, of whose ex- 

 ploits I had heard so much— of 'his fleetness. strength, 

 agility, and of his adventures with the sheriif. which 

 have precisely the flavor of the tales of the merry green- 

 wood, and Like them are not unpopular as a fii-eside 

 entertainment. Why should such stories delight us if 

 they happened six hundred years or more ago in a foreign 

 land, and yet their counterparts of to-day or yesterday 

 happening close at home be passed by unnoticed? Here 

 they arc not so neglected: and it is a fact worthy of com- 

 ment, one without which the present attitude of the 

 people of this State toward the game laws cannot be fully 

 explained, that many, if not most, of us were brought up 

 on stories native to the soil, with our own Achilles the 

 dauntless and Odysseus the craftv, and our own Wat 

 Tylers and Robin Hoods, who defied the sheriffs and 

 loved the common people. Each little place has its cycle, 

 with its own list of heroes grouped about those of wider 

 fame. What robustness and dignity, and, in time, what 

 good literary form some of these acquire: the ujiimport- 

 ajit fades, the characteristic grows more clear, tlie figures 

 rise into form and color and we have the beginning of an 

 epic even in the nineteenth centmy. But to strangers 

 these things do not appear so plainly! and they dp not see 

 the hold they have upon our imaginations: for we do not 

 talk much of what most nearly affects us. My childish 

 O Jyssey, preferred before the great original, was of tales 

 of hunting on the Tobique with Leonard and Philbrook 

 and Peol Antoine Tomah; and to this day my Robin Hood 

 ballads read better with the names of living people. But 

 it is a mistake to speak of Jack Darling as the modern 

 Robin Hood: the situation may warrant a comparisoD, but 

 there is no point of personal resemblance: Charles Morey, 

 however, would make up admirablv as Will Scarlet. 



Father walked from the foot of the lake to the head of 

 Nicatovis Carry, while .Jot and I went down by stream. 

 We found plenty of water. There were two or three sets 

 of little rips, of wMch only the one just above the carry 

 deserves a name. The rest of the stream is good plaiia 

 canoeing. Nicatowis Falls, however, is called "very bad 

 water." Although Morey told us that he usually ran it 

 and others sometimes do the same, watermen equally 

 skilled, but less rashly adventurous, prefer to lug both 

 their loads and their canoes two miles across the carry. 

 Few who go to Nicatowis ever see the falls, for the road 

 does not follow the river, but many doubtless have heard 

 the story of how, one day in the" spring when a heavy 

 freshet was pouring over the falls and the drive had just 

 got down to them, Isaiah Morey, father of Charles, 

 stood up before all the men and gave them 'the dare, say- 

 ing he would run that place if he could find a man for 

 bowman. No one could rmi it, that they all knew: but 

 any one around Nicatowis can tell you how Lon Spearen 

 stepped out with, "Fm your man, Isaiah," and held him 

 to it; how Lonz followed the precept to obey orders if it 

 breaks owners and held to his rope: how Isaiah had noth- 

 ing to say afterward except (with a sniff), "Didn't think 

 'twas so bad."' When all the rest of the world has for- 

 gotten it the owner of that batteau will still remember. 



It was our own Big Sebattis Mitchell who ran Nesowa- 

 duchuni Falls on the West Branch one spring. Everybody 

 knows what kind of water that is. Joe Aitteon— Thoreau's 

 Joe— was at the end of the carry with the other boats* 

 crews and saw him and his bowman make the leap. Thev 

 lia-d just lugged their boats across, but this was too much 

 for them. They shouldered the boats again, staggered 

 back,under the load, put in and ran. Why tell of the 

 boats crushed on the rocks, of the number drowned? The 

 same thing happens too often. Joe Aitteon, at least, 

 lived to be drowned at another place, in another way. 



Only one more. There are tho?e four Penobscot In- 

 dians, well known to us, who in 1876 ran Canaan Falls on 

 the Connecticut, The brother of one of them told the 

 tale. It was imnavigable water, and they were in the 

 eddy below the pier of the bridge which crosses the river 

 just above the falls, holding on by a ringbolt waitiug, 

 when word went abroad that the Penobscot Indians were 

 going to run the falls. People began to gather on the 

 bridge. The Indians below looked up at the line of faces 

 above them and below at the black water, swelling in 

 ridges as it gathered its strength for its white plunge 

 among the rock. Sappiel Or%3n was one, Sebat Ciossian 

 was one, little Sebat Solomon was one — better watermen 

 never w-ere; they consulted ; no man ever had run the 

 place, man could not do it, but the honor of the tribe de- 

 manded it: it was a mistaken rumor that had brought the 

 spectators, but— the pity of it and the tragedy !— to dis- 

 appoint them meant dishonor to the tribe. "Old man, 

 younk man, boy, gal. all sort, was there. Oldtown Injun 

 she got great name ribber drivin'. We mus' go. vVe 

 know it was die, but we mus'n' go back on our name," 

 said the brother, speaking out his approbation of the act 

 and his wUUngTiess to do the same. They went. One 

 died; three were saved by a miracle. They were drunk 

 when they did it, they weres, unlettered Indians at best: 

 but call up the knighthest knight of all antiquity, Bayard 

 or Lancelot, and ask if he ever did a deed more noble, 

 more devoted, more honorable to Honor, and when he 

 answers Nay, I will call up four more like these, and f our 

 more, and four more, until he cries he never saw any 

 army all so knightly. That is the Penobscot waterman. 

 That is the kind of story on which Penobscot chUdreu 

 are brought np. 



At the upper end of Nicatowis carry, which is part of 

 the woods road from Oilman's to Nicatowis, there is a hill, 

 and on the hill there is a camp, and at the camp we found 

 a man who was waiting for Darling to come in from 

 'Lowell. Porter was his name, and for a reasonable sum 

 •we got him to answer to it and help us. But first we 

 hunted around in the beeches and drew forth our hidden 

 supplies, some of which weie the worse for water, espe- 

 cially the potatoes and the angleworms. (Good gentle- 

 men, we do fish with a worm when the fishes prefer 



worms). Frankly, the worms were all dead, having been 

 drowned by the frequent rains. 



This carry is the best two-mile carry I ever saw in the 

 State, not excepting Northeast Carry." I claim to know 

 because I lugged on it myself. Usually this is not per- 

 mitted; and, being entirely under masculine control, and 

 very submissive, I can seldom steal a chance to carry 

 anything but my handbag. But in the present instance, 

 as there was a little more than two loads for each of the 

 three men, rather than have the expedition delayed while 

 one man traveled two miles and back for a mere handful 

 of small articles, I was allowed to be usefiil. True, I got 

 Jack Mann's load — two axes, a fish-pole, a frying-pan, a 

 bundle of ropes, my heavy jacket and the two grape 

 baskets— not much in pounds but a fine assortment for 

 inconvenience, for the jacket had a satin lining and was 

 as hard to hold as an otter, the frying-pan was not desir- 

 able as a near neighbor, and the axes and fishing pole 

 utterly refused to fellowship; if one pointed east and west, 

 the other two pointed north and south, and to the zenith 

 and nadir. But we all held together until we were across. 



It is worth narrating that I inquired of our porter about 

 that noise which we heard at Gassobeeis. "Oh, you 

 always heax that about Nicatowis." I was piqued at the 

 reply; it was just such an answer as woodsmen often 

 make to greenhorns to put them off, and— is it going be- 

 yond the bounds of modesty? — there didn't seem to be 

 any call for such an answer in the present instance. It 

 was not so easy to believe in the supernatural when in- 

 vited by another person; and so I told Father. "It's the 

 blasting on the foundations of the great pulp mills at 

 Montague (Howland),'" he said with an illumination, 

 "thii-ty miles away, due west; that's why we heard it at 

 noon and night." But in justice to our porter, it should 

 be stated that I am informed from a most trustworthy 

 source that before a storm there is frequently heard at 

 Nicatowis a rumbling like thunder, proceeding from the 

 south, never explained, but conjectured to be blasting in 

 the mines at Bluehill. 



In the afternoon we ran down Nicatowis Branch to 

 Pistol Green. For several miles the stream runs tlirough 

 meadows and rash grounds, with a strong current but 

 no miick water. In places the tushes are so thick that 

 it is hard to free a passage. Further down the right bank 

 is low and wooded with swamp maple, while the left 

 bank, toward which the stream sweeps and from which 

 it retreats again with sinuous curves, is a high horseback, 

 wooded with birch, maple, poplar- and black growth. It 

 is a part of that great Springfield-Deblois horseback which 

 extends across the country for more than a hundred 

 miles, perhaps the finest and most interesting horseback 

 we have in the State. 



Pistol Green, our camping ground for the night, is just 

 above the mouth of Pistol Stream and a mile above the 

 fork of the Passadumkeag, the most famous campground 

 in the region from time immemorial. 



XVII.— UP MAIN STREAM. 



If it were not for telling those who have been there 

 what they know already, the trip up Main Stream might 

 just as well be left a blank; we saw nothing except peo- 

 ple, did nothing except paddle against a strong current 

 and there is nothing to tell except guide-book facts. 



However, it is worth mentioning that when we reached 

 the trout-hole which Al McLain spoiled by rolling in a 

 rock, Father heard a partridge drumming on the ridge 

 back from the stream and started in after him. When he 

 returned he brought back the partridge, more pleased 

 than if he had killed a deer. To locate a "drummer" by 

 the sound, creep up to him on the log and kill him is the 

 most difficult piece of hunting ever done in Maine. It 

 requires the very best efforts of a born hunter, for the 

 sound is very deceptive, ic ceases the moment the pursuer 

 gets in sight, they are many times shyer than a deer and 

 for some cause unexplained shot seems to have less effect 

 on them than at other times. Is it sportsmanlike to kill 

 them so? Yes; and those who say it is not cannot per- 

 form the feat. 



The Main Stream is principally meadow and crooks. 

 A few rounded bushes, springing up among the grass, do 

 not relieve the monotony of the banks; and patches of 

 p-'ckerel-weed, moose-ear, and lily pads do not improve 

 the paddling on the turns, which are so frequent that a 

 long canoe like ours needs a hinge in her, as the hunters 

 say, to work her round the curves. On the left, going 

 up, Wyman Brook comes in. Cold Springs, on the right, 

 is the first camp ground. We di-ew up here a moment to 

 look at the signs, and Father announced that a large 

 party had camped here not more than two nights before, 

 from the beds that they were fishing instead of hunting; 

 various signs that .they had at least two women with 

 them, from new rubber tracks; that a little way up 

 stream we should see a bright blue canoe, from paint on 

 a rock. At Maple Growth, on the end of the carry to 

 Spring Lake, we passed the blue canoe; at Lower Taylor 

 Brook we passed two men, evidently of the same party, 

 fishing; a little above we saw two women and seven men 

 cranberrying — all as the signs had foretold. 



•Just above the bog where these last were, the stream 

 grows narrower, with alders and wild raisins and, 

 notably, the tali wild raisin (Vibimium lentago) whicii 

 here reaciies the diameter of 6in. The high bush cran- 

 berry (I ftif?-?i?{7rt opuliis) is abundant also, though this 

 was not a fruitful year for them. It is one of our best 

 native fruits, the only sauce for venison when one has 

 learned how to prepare it; but those who do not know 

 how may be left to experiment for themselves, thereby 

 increasing their enjoyment when they know how. 



At this part of the stream, which is more tedious than 

 any that precedes, is an artificial cut called the LcTsver 

 Dugout; then on the right comes Upper Taylor Brook, 

 where the trout are always dark-bellied, while those in 

 the stream ju«t outside have pink bellies; on the lefc 

 above, Brown Brook; then the Two Brothers, good-sized 

 rocks in the middle of the stream, more crooks, taller 

 trees, the Oxbow, where a carry of a few rods cuts off 

 half a mile or less of stream, Dobsy Carry on the right, 

 the Upper Dugout, and, above, the ponds in which the 

 Passadumkeag takes its rise, and the Indian Carry to 

 Upper Dobsy. 



The way was long but not tedious; every turn sug- 

 gested some incident which might or did happen there, 

 and the succession of turns and stories rivalled in number 

 and continuity the similar series of which the fair Sche- 

 herazade made herself so agreeable. From his hunting 

 trip here with Lon Spearen twelve years before, Jot de- 

 tailed all the scenes in Long's adventures with the fire, 



and Father told with effect the story of the man at Cold 

 Springs who mistook sandpeeps for'game, while Mr. Fair- 

 bank's public-spirited service in cutting off the big end of 

 a green ash tree which had been felled across the stream 

 while everybody el^e went around the top, was not for- 

 gotten. And like Dinarzade in the story, we said of each 

 one, "I find this the most entertaining of all; pray give 

 us another." 



Just below the carry to Upper Dobsy we shot a duck 

 and heard a partridge drumming. To hear partridges 

 drumming in the fall of the year bodes foul weather; but 

 Father's treatment of all such bad signs reminds us of 

 Tom Dana and the robin. This time, however, the par- 

 tridge got away wing-broken, and probably hid in some 

 of the rotten cedar stumps which abounded there. We 

 trailed him five or six rods and lost the sign where the 

 cedars were thickest. 



As this was only a short distance from the carry we 

 decided to camp here for the night. Such a bed and such 

 a fire! Sancho Panza blesses the man who invented 

 sleep; but no man should stand higher in the calendar of 

 Maine saints than he who fii'st taught the virtues and the 

 uses of good dry poplar. 



XVin. — THE CARRY TO UPPER DOBSY. 



The next morning it rained. On Machias it had been 

 necessary to wait for the weather; but here, as we were 

 not intending to lug on the carry but only wished to see 

 it and the lake, a little raiir could not hinder us. So, put- 

 ting off the execution of our threat against rubber coats 

 and mackintoshes until we should get where we did not 

 need them , we sallied forth to cross the carry. There was 

 a slapping of wet rubber garments, the ghostly, emjoty 

 sound of rubber boots walking and the soft sqirmh of the 

 same withdrawn from the suck of mud and moss. Three 

 miles and twenty rods that carry measures, and all the 

 way over and back there was the sound of the flapping 

 and the walking, and most of the way it rained right 

 merry marching music. • 



The carry to Upper Dobay is a good one. There is a 

 little lowland near the Passadumkeag, which, on the 

 present occasion, was wet; but mostjof the way lies across 

 a rocky ridge, rising, heavily wooded and 'with much 

 good hemlock still uncut, gradually from the stream. 

 The road is easy to tra^vel, but would not be easy for a 

 stranger to follow because it has been so cross-hauled and 

 blocked by trees felled into it. Apparently it has been 

 little used of late. If i^ere has been much travel from 

 Main Stream to St. Croix, it has probably gone by way of 

 the old Indian Carry from Weir Pond to Upper Dobsy, 

 since that is only a third the length of this. 



As we went up the Passadumkeag slope. Father told us 

 of a smuggler, who, years ago, had died on this carry 

 when on the way across from the Provinces, and who was 

 buried here. The spot had been marked by a fence of 

 logs, rudely^ but substantially put up, as men mark Mor- 

 tality, seeking to defy it. But Time had mossed the logs 

 and gradually had mouldered them to the general level. 

 When last he. saw the place there had been nothing to 

 markit— a little hollow sunken like a cradle and a round- 

 holed beech tree once blazed with some rude mark or 

 symbol at the head. After the years that had passed 

 since then, he was not sure that he could recognize the 

 place. But he knew it by intuition, though now the 

 lusty beech showed scarcely a mark on its round trunk, 

 and the little hollow, which is yearly growing less, will 

 soon reach the level of the surrounding earth. The 

 smuggler's grave — we stood by it a moment in rhe mist, 

 without gloom or disheartenment. Even there Life had 

 conquered Death; in place of tlie signs which marked 

 Mortality %vas the living, growing tokens of the Immor- 

 tality which succeeds. 



There are many such graves in the woods, "under the 

 sod and the dew, waiting the Judgment Day." Murder 

 and accident and disease each have their graves, equally 

 unmarked and equally indistinguishable. They say that 

 there are'^four on the old Indian Carry just above: and 

 last year at the head of Pamedumcook the pseudo-guide, 

 whom we dubbed the Professor of Woodcraft, told us a 

 long story about a number between Polly wog Pond and 

 Rainbow Lake; which may not be true, for the man is the 

 champion liar of J;he State since Uncle Bill Barrett died. 

 If one were to search out all these tales of the woods there 

 would be a strange collection of them, from the story of 

 the retributive justice which faced Old Dirty Donald at 

 I his ending to that of Nolan's murder; from the srewsome 

 , tale of Larry Connor's skull to the simple incident at 

 I which smiles and tears are blended, of how Joe Aitteon's 

 ; hoots hung for years in rain and shine at Shad Pond, 

 where they found him, viewed with respect by all the 

 ( river-drivers, a strange but touching memorial of their 

 I affection for the governor.* 



On the height of the ridge between the Passadumkeag 

 ' and Dobsy, and about three-fourths of the way across(for 

 the short, steep slope is toward Dobsy ), is the old Dobsy 

 Farm. For many years cattle have been pastured here in 

 summer and the old barn kept in repair; but when last 

 seen the little shanty on the pilace was yielding to the as- 

 saults of time and the weather. Therefore we were some- 

 what surprised to see that the little house had been patched 

 up for habitation, and that an effort was being made to 

 reclaim the farm from life-everlasting to live-for-ever. 

 They say that from this point, which is the height of laud 

 between Penobscot and St. Croix waters, there is a grand 

 view of Katahdin ; but it was lost on us. A thick mist 

 covering everything, and the pouring rain, in which we 

 made our appearance, must have made our little pleasure 

 trip appear "a highly quixotic proceeding to the three men 

 in the barn, who suddenly were aware of a rubber-coated 

 procession, armed with gun and hatchet, emerging from 

 the mist close upon them. 



We went down to the i'l.ke, but it was scarcely more 

 visible than Katahdin. The water was very clear, and it 

 must be a pretty lake, for there are hills about. A fea- 

 ture of the carry-end is a large scarlet- fruited thorn of 

 unusual beauty, laden with fruit, the nearest to being 

 edible of any thorn-plums I ever saw. This is damning 

 with faint praise; but, i'ather to the contrary, I am per- 

 suaded thatthe excellencies of the thorn-plum, as Thoreau 



* The aatiquarian should be cautioned against mistaking for 

 these, relica a pair which I once left haneing npon a tree near the 

 outlet of the same pmid— mn^h travelpd shoes that had seen the 

 wliole of northern Maine, a sood deal of t're country between 

 Glens Falls o-n the Hudson and 'he pinnacle of St. Avmand, that 

 had climbed Katahdin, and woe's rhe day they ever were left he- 

 hind, that should have bean made to travel from Shad Pond to 

 Mattawamkeag that hot August weather instead of the new pair 

 that took their place,— F. P. H, 



