76 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Jan. 28, 1898. 



Speaking of Whiteface Mountain, a moment ago, I am 

 reminded of the origin of its name. In 1817, tradition 

 has it, a slide began at its very summit and stripped its 

 entire western side of everything but rock. The roaring 

 of the avalanche was heard for many miles around and 

 it is said that three hunters who were known to be in 

 the vicinity were never heard of afterward. Another 

 notably destructive event was the windfall of 1845, which 

 began near Cranberry Lake, St. Lawrence county, and 

 swept eastward some' thirty miles, prostrating every tree 

 in its path, from half a mile to a mile wide. Some parts 

 of the land thus cleared are now under cultivation, but 

 most of it is covered with underbrush which does not 

 seem to have any ambition to replace the once stalwart 

 forest. It was in this "windfall" that A. Ames Howlett, 

 so well known as a genial gentleman and accomplished 

 sportsman, killed several bears. And in the inlet of 

 Cranberry Lake, near by, he took his famous trout, 

 weighing when some time from the water 51bs. l4.oz. It 

 was upon this lake and surroundings that "Uncle" 

 Eeuben Wood spent some of his pleasant days. Upon 

 some stones of singular formation, piled one upon 

 another, in monumental form, and at a point well up the 

 inlet, Justice I. G, Vann caused a suitable inscription to 

 be cut, in memory of the man whom every angler loved. 

 He was the soul of honor and truthfulness, he could not 

 tell even a fisherman's lie. 



Many are the recollections of acquaintances I have 

 made in my wanderings in the woods, as I think of my 

 old friend. In a hundred places have there been such 

 chance meetings, as many a camp fire has burned the 

 brighter for them. A long list of names recur to my 

 mind, and so of many friends whose names I cannot re- 

 call, but of whom the pleasantest recollections remain. 

 Many have passed over the river, a few remain. We are 

 all mortal. Thousands of high-minded, devoted sports- 

 men have gone before; thousands are to follow. Life's 

 brook must be whipped for the last time, and the great 

 whirlpool gathers us in. But we were the better for our 

 communion with nature and nature's gift of wood, stream, 

 lake and mountain. 



What pleasure has fallen to our lot! Yes, there was 

 joy in the anticipation of the trip, in overhauling the 

 equipment and supplying deficiencies. What zest in 

 planning the trip and making engagement of guide and 

 quarters. Long sketches of previous enjoyment could be 

 read from the leaves of the fly-book, and certain flies 

 seemed almost alive and anxious to drop into old haunts. 

 The friendly rifle was inspected with interest and pre- 

 cision and each individual cartridge wiped and laid in its 

 place. At the appointed time all of the equipments were 

 in readiness, and with a "good-bye"' to friends and the 

 severing of business or professional ties hard to break, 

 the season of pleasure was begun. A railroad journey 

 and miles over a wagon road, and the introduction to 

 that which was to come was made. Here the garb of 

 the true woodsman — of woolen, comfortable and service- 

 able, with none of the gew-gawsof the imaginative youth 

 — took the place of fine linen and fashionable suits. 

 Your guide and "pack" ready, and away to camp you 

 went. Was there a party of genial friends? All the 

 better. Over the quiet waters of the lake floated a 

 platoon of boats, and in good time the camp was reached. 

 Here%r a week, perhaps, two, three of four weeks, there 

 was rare zest, pleasure and enjoyment. There was good 

 fishing by day, good floating by night; but no wasteful- 

 ness. Peace, plenty and prosperity were forced by cir- 

 cumstances into alliteration, and the days went swiftly 

 by. The time came for the "trip through the woods." 

 Was it from "Paul" Smith's St. Regis Lake that the 

 start was made? Very well. You hastened along the 

 portages and over Cold Lake to spend the night 

 on the Upper Saranac. Then with the rising sun you 

 continued on to the Raquette River and Long Lake, 

 where you spent the second night. The scenery of the 

 day was superb. It was a day of hard work for the 

 guides, but they did not complain. The following day 

 the run through the river and Forked Lake was made to 

 the Raquette through extreme wildness. You spent a 

 day or two in floating along its ever curving shores and 

 were never lost for something to attract the eye. What 

 should the next place be? Either Old Forge or Blue 

 Mountain Lake, the latter up Marion River, eleven miles 

 away; but you chose the former. So away across the 

 lake and through a winding tedious inlet, then over a 

 pleasant carry and through the Fulton Chain of eight 

 lakes. Every boat's length of the journey had some- 

 thing of special interest. There is no route, you say, 

 which is so attractive, so satisfactory. Here was a 

 favorite camping place and also a good hotel, where the 

 vacation could be indefinitely prolonged. The trip could 

 hav* been as well begun at Loon Lake or at Meacham 

 Lake, giving more distance and time, and it could have 

 been varied "at the Upper Saranac by going through the 

 Tuppers instead of Long Lake. The latter would have 

 involved some hard work, the scenery would have been 

 less enjoyable and the hotel accommodations less invit- 

 ing;. ' 'jj, ' V " V. "* ' _*J C*a 



The Beaver River offered much attraction previous to 

 the advent of Dr. Webb: but strangers are no longer wel- 

 come upon Albany and Smith's Lake, and the old route 

 through the Raquette is no longer to be enjoyed. In- 

 deed, between the encroachments of clubs and their large 

 holdings and Dr. Webb and his possessions of a vast ter- 

 ritory, the tourist is in danger of being pinched out alto- 

 gether. But too much usurpation of this sort may result 

 in much outlawry, for there are thousands of people who 

 feel wronged by the greedy possession of so much land by 

 so few people. 



The hope of the people for the future preservation of 

 this gift of heaven to mankind, is in the movement for 

 the establishment of a State Park. This great forest 

 should remain the property of the people forever. The 

 State owes it to tho people to at once take possession of 

 all and everything which constitutes the forest, and drive 

 from it every person who would selfishly rob the people 

 of the boon which this region alone can confer. Grand 

 in its mountains, valleys, lakes, streams and verdure be- 

 yond the power of the pen to describe, let the prayer of 

 millions for their preservation prevail as against the un- 

 holy greed of the few. 



Syracuse, N. Y., December, 1891. 



Names anb Portraits ot? Birds, by Grurdon Trumbull. A 

 book pj Elc eatins to gunners, for by its use they cap 



identffyTPithout question &tt the Ata«rtcan game nirds whlcU 

 they umy till. Ol&fcb. 2*1 nagaa. odce *2.Sfi. Fas gale by FGhep -t 



WILBUR R, WEBSTER. 



Drowned in crossing Moosshead Lake, Jan. 4, 189™, Wilbur R. 

 Webster, of Northeast Carry, guide and woodsmau, aged 30 

 years. 



T ¥ AD he lived the whole FOREST AND STREAM family 

 XT would have known him, for it was the editor's in- 

 tention to introduce him to that goodly company and to 

 add from bis fund of woods observation and experience 

 to the store already amassed. Ot this loss I do not speak, 

 but of the man: we were friends, 



In the first place he was very much a man, prompt, 

 decided, quick, outspoken, meaning what he said, ready 

 to defend it. He had a fine, manly way of standing by 

 himself and accounting to himself for what he said and 

 did, which is the semblance, of independence and well 

 became him. 



Some people have an atmosphere about them; others 

 do not. Wilbur Webster was decidedly of the former 

 sort. If you knew anything about men you knew the 

 instant you faced him that here was a positive character. 

 His letters, too, had a breezy rustle in them that made 

 them charming even to one who did not know the writer. 

 He spoke of things with a knack that nature gave him, 

 just as she gave him his taste for tools and handicraft; 

 for he was a man of many professions and perhaps bet- 

 ter able to take care of himself in the woods by com- 

 fortable expedients than any man we have had sine 1 

 Hiram L. Leonard, the fly-rod maker, left our woods 

 some thirty years ago. Aside f rem his inventive turn he 

 had all the trades of the Indian; he could build his own 

 canoe, make his own snowshoes in every part, make his 

 own moccasins and not only kill the rnoose but tan the 

 hides he made them of. In hunting and (rapping he was 

 well skilled for a man of his years. He could, without 

 shame, take his place among cooks, lumbermen and 

 river-drivers and do the work of any of them. He had 

 also been a special warden at one time. 



Nor was this all. He had knocked about the world 

 somewhat in his more restless days and had had experi- 

 ences. The eight days that we were together last spring 

 were an Arabian tale; for, first it was when be had been 

 a sailor, and, lying out on the bowsprit, had watched the 

 porpoises play round the vessel's bows; then he was load- 

 ing cotton in the South, commenting on Southern life as 

 it appears to a Yankee stevedore; the third day we were 

 alligator hunting with him in the bayous, at which trade 

 he had spent some weeks or months; or we learnpd to ride 

 a Texan broncho, or we hunted moose in (lie woods of 

 Maine. Always there was life, and light and shadow in 

 his stories. Who can tell, until the whole story of that 

 stay last spring with the West Branch drive at Ripo- 

 genus can be written down, how evenings when the dusk 

 was gathering, Joe Francis aud Steve Stanislaus would 

 come dragging Avearily up hill to our tent after their 

 day 's work, aud we would all lie round the tire on our 

 btaukets, drinking clear tea from tin dippers, and either 

 telling stories or comparing woods notes? — evenings 

 when the inimitable Joe told us his !, 01dNon Ooniprend's 

 Dead," when Wilbur always came in a good second, and 

 Steve beamed silent but appreciative in the lire glow. 

 Those w-ere days to be framed in silver! "The pictures. " 

 wrote Wilbur of some photographs I sent him, "bring 

 back many pleasant recollections of the scrambles over 

 logs and rocks, our search for the oven bird's nest, and 

 above all, the moose stories that used to take my atten- 

 tion and spoil my cooking." He should have added that 

 no small part of these were his own. "He hit out pretty 

 straight at us guides," he wrote me this fall of a man he 

 had been off with, "for telling big stories; but all the 

 same, 1 don't believe he doubted any of them.'' 



This last is highly characteristic of Webster. He was 

 proud of the fact that w^hat he said couldn't be doubted. 

 He spoke straight out at you with blunt directness, and 

 you must abide and believe it. That Saxon frankness 

 was as marked a feature as his Saxon blue eyes and ruddy 

 beard. Flinching and double-speaking were not taught 

 in the school where he was brought up. And yet he was 

 always more than willing to substantiate what he said. 

 I remember one day a question came up about the nest- 

 ing place of sheldrakes. Father and I said, in old stubs; 

 Webster said, on the ground. We knew that we were 

 right, and did not doubt that he was also, but still he was 

 anxious to have us see for ourselves. If we went back by 

 way of Caribou Lake and the Grant Farm, said he not 

 once nor twice, but many times, he would agree to show 

 ua all the sheldrakes' nests we wanted to see, and all on 

 the ground. And so he did. We scudded about in Cari- 

 bou Lake, making from one rocky islet to another between 

 the 'flaws— "If it hain't on this one, it certainly would be 

 on the next"— until we saw under the little spruce bushes, 

 as he had said, the big nest full of eggs wreathed with 

 down and feathers; and that noon, on the last high ledge 

 toward Ragged, we dined on sheldrakes' eggs, with the 

 June sun blistering our noses and a blue-backed swallow 

 twittering to her mate from the door of the old wood- 

 pecker's hole in the islet's solitary stub, where she had 

 her nest. 



One could not see Wilbur Webster loug without ob- 

 serving that he had nerve and coolness and no small 

 measure of that more brilliant courage which attracts 

 more attention even if it be not so useful. He, indeed, 

 never boasted, either what he could do or had done; he 

 spoke of times when he had been over- venturesome— he 

 wouldn't do that now, he said—and of times when he 

 had been afraid : but when I urged tho dangers of a course 

 of action from which 1 would dissuade him, the smile 

 in his beard said that these were the chief attractions. 

 Prudent he doubtless could be, for a hunter must have 

 that good grace, and yet his natural bent was to rashness, 

 of which I may, perhaps, cite an instance. When I was 

 working on the game laws there was a certain delicate 

 matter which I desired to investigate. It was, in fact, so 

 ' delicate that I thought not even those who knew me best 

 would wish to put their knowledge on paper for me. 

 1 Then the question was, who could tell me best. On ac- 

 ! count of his clear understanding and ability to write 



■ definitely and coherently, I chose to ask Wilbur Webster. 

 ' At this time our entire acquaintance consisted of passing 

 ' each other without speaking two years before on Mud 



■ Pond Carry and two letters on game matters— nothing 

 besides this except slight business acquaintance with my 

 father. Now it happened that in choosing him I had 

 selected the very person who knew more about the mat- 

 ter in question than any one else. The result was that be 



i sent me promptly full particulars, with no guarantee of 

 \ mv good faith, although he registered the letter for fear 

 O fV its falling into the wrong hands and requested me to 



burn it immediately. The information thus given was 

 of great service to me, although for himself discovery of 

 what he had done would have been dangerous if not fatal. 



Wilbur Webster was educated, but not in the schools. 

 He left school at twelve, which he deeply regretted, as 

 also that he had spoiled his mind by reading too much 

 trash. For my own part, I see no cause to complain of a 

 mind no more spoiled. It was strong and penetrating, 

 naturally inclined to ask questions for its own solution. 

 It was alert and inquisitive rather (ban heavy, but it was 

 logical, and always kept well to the point. This indeed 

 was particularly noticeable in his letters. The minds of 

 woodsmen are generally clear, but their letters resemble 

 rabbit tracks in their lack of continuity. Here, however, 

 was one who wrote with ease and felicity. His observa- 

 tion of nature was true and good, minute in details with 

 which a woodsman does not often burden himself. He 

 had a fine taste in books and a reading wider than com- 

 mon. Dickens and Scott he spoke of, I remember; and 

 he talked of Disraeli and Adam Badeau, to me unfamil- 

 iar ground; he said also that he liked Emerson. And in 

 current events he. was well posted; on undecided issues, 

 fair minded. I remember that we were talking on pro- 

 hibition that last, evening at the Grant Farm and that I 

 noticed with pleasure the points he made. He hid behind 

 no conventionalities of phrase. If you wanted to argue, 

 he left his intrenchments and came out single-handed; so 

 was conversation with him refreshing and profitable. 



I think it no more creditable to misrepresent a man for 

 the better at his fleath than to do him this injustice for 

 the worse in his lifetime. No one was freer to own that 

 this man had faults than himself. He was a man of 

 quick, hot temper, less steadfast than resoiute, with less 

 forethought than af I erthought, of many faults and fail- 

 ures if he were judged by his own report; for, whether 

 because he liked us as we liked him, or because we were 

 all Penobscot born and therefore inclined to be clannish, 

 he spoke to us without reserve. But at worst his faults 

 were those of a nature inclined to be noble, while his 

 virtues were sterling. Yet it was not to everyone that 

 he showed the side which he uncovered to us, "I 

 despised that party," he said, speaking of one that he 

 had guided; "I was hateful as I could be. Why, I swore 

 enough to have kicked me out of two parties, let alone 

 the rest." Because he disliked a man he seemed to think 

 it good cause for making that man dislike him. It way 

 part of bis impetuous promptness. Yet he was most 

 generous wherever he found anything to praise. On oc- 

 casions he was enthusiastic. I remember his saying of 

 one New York man with whom he had been guiding, 

 and of whose reeppot for the game laws he had the 

 highest admiration, " That man was the straiglitest man 

 that ever came into these woods.'' And of others now 

 and then he said, "Oh, they were straight, they weren't 

 sports."' 



But his chief attraction tome was his power of growth. 

 Bit by bit he told us his life and we put the bits together. 

 It was wonderful how from so troubled a life, a brain 

 seething with thoughts and an Almost fevered energy 

 driving to action and change, be was working his way 

 to clearer views and settled convictions, to an under- 

 standing of all-pervading order. He bad an innate clear- 

 ness and brightness of soul— that drove away fogs and 

 clouds — a health of soul that needed no tonic and yielded 

 to no odds; for it was noteworthy that with him habits 

 which commonly take stronger grip with years were 

 losing hold— not trampled under but outgrown. He was 

 superior to these things: they dropped away. To us this 

 growth in poise and candor of spirit, with the ripening 

 though tfulness that attended, promised much. It was the 

 promise as much as the achieve that was so refreshing 

 and made our friendship. 



I do not mean to preach, but one never has too many 

 friends. There is left alone the young wife who had 

 lived much with him in the woods, sharing many of Ins 

 adventures, and of whom he always spoke with tender- 

 ness. Fannie P. Hardy, 



A SPERM WHALE ASTRAY. 



THE National Museum has added to its collection a 

 very desirable and, as far as the Museum is con- 

 cerned, unique skeleton of the sperm whale. Owing to 

 the fact that the animal inhabits warm waters of the 

 Atlantic and Pacific, and comes into cold waters off our 

 coast only accidentally, the chance of getting a stranded 

 specimen are very few and far between. The lower jaw 

 with its formidable array of teeth is a familiar object in 

 collections, but the entire skeleton is known to be found 

 now only in Jefferson College, Philadelphia, and the Na- 

 tional Museum. The whale is a young one with its teeth 

 still concealed in the gums, and with a length of only 27ft. 



THE SPERM WHALE. 



or only about one-third the size of an adult male. A still 

 younger individual measuring 16ft. and weighing about 

 a ton and one-half, was taken in 1842 near New Bedford. 

 Mass., and another 30ft. long was captured on the coast of 

 Cornwall, which had in its stomach the enormous number 

 of 300 mackerel. It may be interesting to the readers of 

 the current shark stories to know that the sperm whale 

 turns upon its side to take large ob jects between its .jaws; 

 this is owing to the peculiar shape of the head, which will 

 be at once appreciated by reference to the figure on Plate 1 

 of the "Fishery Industries." The head of the sperm whale 

 is not only heavy, but it is also tough, and when a fighting 

 bull is mad his pursuers must approach him with extreme 

 caution. The veteran whaler Capt. Owen, once told the 

 writer of a personal adventure with a fighting sperm which 

 rushed towards his boat with open jaws and thrashing 

 from side to side. An iron was driven into his "case." 

 whereupon he closed his mouth and shoved the boat ahead 

 of him in the most exciting manner. A second weapon 

 was launched into his mouth and this caused him to turn 

 on his side, when a third iron was thrust into his "life," 



