Sept. 10, 1891.J 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



143 



THE BIG BUCK WE DIDN'T SHOOT. 



In .rune, 1886, if. wa.s my privllese to recount to your readers tlie 

 story of ti-ie. iiitj buck that we killed in. Oarberry Swamp. In my 

 journal for April, 1.S90, I find an additional chapter with the above 

 neadinpr. I must request that the drawing herewith be received 

 as au historical document compiled from the latest and best 

 authorities and therefore quire tlje mngt reliable extant represen- 

 tation of the creature.— Ernest E. Thompson. 



WE all know hiin well: his existence is established 

 now as surely as that o£ the sea serpent or the big 

 fish that got off the hook. Even better, for many of us 

 have seen him in broad daylight and had a fair open 

 view oE his noble form. And what a creature he i?, 

 what a paragon of size and development. One observer 

 that had an exceptionally good look at him, counted 

 twenty-seven tines on each antler, and such antlers! 

 sculptured bronze with gleammg ivory points, absolutely 

 symmetrical and perfect, in every way befitting his im- 

 mense stature and noble beavity. I am sure it cannot be 

 that he shed them above once in twenty years, if at all. 

 Another equally reliable historian assorts that this Wood- 

 laud Kraken has tbree antlers, the third a spike in the 

 center. So far all is 

 abund-antly attested, but 

 I must say that I place 

 but little faith in that 

 story of a chaplet of 

 pearls about his brow; 

 it was simply the knotted 

 bead - like antler - burrs, 

 white and polished, and 

 glistening perhaps with 

 the morning dew; while 

 the crucifix in the mid- 

 dle, that has been report- 

 ed, is nothing more than 

 the spikehorn above re- 

 ferrea to. 



I expect to learn some 

 day tnat he casts no 

 shadow, for this I cer- 

 tainly know, that often- 

 times he leaves no track 

 behind him in the snow. 

 His speed, too, is marvel- 

 ous, it is as the wind; he 

 seems— nay, he actually 

 is ubiquitous. Why! I 

 first met him in the woods 

 of Ontario, then shortly 

 afterward I encountered 

 his scornful gaze amid 

 the sandhills of iJlanito- 

 ba. I have heard for cer- 

 tain of his having been 

 seeu in the canebrakes of 

 Kentucky and amid the 

 valleys of California. 

 Even in England he was 

 well known till quite 

 lately and bore the name 

 of "The White Hart Roy- 

 al," and in Scotland he 

 is still famous as "The 

 Muckle Hart of Ben- 

 more." Nay, more than 

 all this. Saint Hubert 

 himself was blessed with 

 a s gbt of the tri- cerate 

 head in the forests of 

 Germany, and he in fact 

 is responsible f"r that 

 story of the central cru- 

 cifix. Ttie grtat Munc- 

 hausen, too, has much to 

 say about this noblest of 

 deer, and what need have 

 we of further witness? 



But it matters little 

 where he dwells, no hu- 

 man hand has ever 

 touched his glossy coat; 

 he seems endowed with 

 a charmed life, no bullet 

 cast of lead can ever reach 



hiin, Oi courtse a bail of silver might; I have never tried 

 that, and I do not remember that any Croesus ever went 

 about riddling innumerable bushes with costly projectiles 

 in hopes of securing the Great Stag. I doubt, too, that he 

 would have succeeded, indeed I feel sure that no hunter 

 armed with such infallible missiles will ever meet with 

 St. Hubert's Hart. He is too sagacious to allow it, or, if 

 he did, he would not long remain in sight, he would 

 simply show himself and snort and stamp — I know it, for 

 I have watched him — then fade away, like the Cat in 

 Wonderland, the scornful gaze being the last thing to 

 vanish into thin air. He leaves a good track for a little 

 while, but this, too, fades away completely. Once I fol- 

 lowed it for miles, but it disappeared at last in a thickly- 

 grown bottomland, and no doubt the phantom buck him- 

 self had vanished at the self same place. An Indian who 

 was hunting with me thought otherwise, and persisted in 

 circling off in another direction, so that we parted, but he 

 was a fool, and when after two or three hours he came 

 again to ^camp, bringing with him an ordinary buck, I 

 could not but smile to see how completely he had been 

 bafiied. 



It has never been decided even of what species he is. 

 some testimony points one way and some in another, for 

 my own part I do not believe that he is a species at all, 

 but a genus — genus Cervus, nothing more. One recent 

 writer, however, claims that he was an elk, and was 

 known for long in Pennsylvania as "The Lone Elk of the 

 Sinnemahoning," in which valley he was killed in 1867. 

 Btit that, of course, is all nonsense. No, no! I know too 

 much about him to believe any such tale, you cannot 

 wreck the Flying Dtitchman, he still will sail under 

 great billowy clouds of canvas, till the last trump blows 

 and the Kraken lashes all the sea to foam, and belly up- 

 ward floats to show the end h-'s come. 



No, no! Still he roams and bounds from hill to hill as 

 I have seen and yet may see again. Yea, even now do 

 see in fancy V eye along'my glistening rifle barrel — again 

 I see that glorious head against the sky, as often I did — 

 more often in early days than now, for he appears most 

 often to the tyro in the woods— see him give one great 

 bound when cracks the ready rifle, and know from the 

 miraculous way in which the unerring ball was turned 



aside that this was indeed the Mighty Stag again, the 

 Spirit of the Race, and that no bullet cast of lead can 

 ever graze his hide— and again he fades away. 



Long may he roam and spurn the hilltops with his fly- 

 ing feet and dash the dew drops from the highest pine 

 tops as he clears the valley at a botmd; long may he live 

 and tempt a perfect hail of harmless lead. But the rattle 

 of repeaters is heard in every valley now; the wise are 

 more and more often proi^ounding that unfathomable 

 riddle, "Where have all the deer gone?" And when at 

 last the sole remainder of the common race is slain, I 

 know too well that this the immortal , too, will die; that 

 though he never can be touched by death he yet will 

 perish, perish like the last surviving Cambrian bard, not 

 by the hand of man, but by a strange engulf ment so com- 

 plete that not a trace of him will e'er be found again, and 

 but a fading memory of his ever having been. E. E. T. 



HER FIRST BEAR HUNT. 



IN coasequpnce of the partial failure of the berry crop 

 iu our mountains, the Itears have lately giown hold 



"THE BIG BUCK.'^ 



and aggressive, coming down out of the mountains into 

 the settlements in search of food , and considerable trouble 

 has already been given the settlers, while several of the 

 black poachers have lost their jackets. 



My daughter, Mrs. Geo. E. Wright, who lives in a 

 somewhat isolated place separated from the Colville 

 Valley by an intervening mountain, and whose nearest 

 neighbor lives one and a half miles distant, was on the 

 evening of Aug. 26 startled by the direful squeals of one 

 of her husband's hogs in the pasture about half a mile 

 from the house. 



She was alone with her two little children (one an in- 

 fant in arms), save for the presence of her little brother 

 of twelve years, and the sun had alreadv set, while the 

 moonless night was darkening rapidly. Taking her ab- 

 sent husband's .403al, Marlin repeater, and accompanied 

 by her little brother, she hurried down into the pasture, 

 leaving her two babies at the house. 



Arrived at the edge of a thicket, she could still hear 

 the dying cries of the unfortunate porker, together with 

 the trampling of the bear in the dense bushes: but the 

 darkness had already grown so deep that in the gloom of 

 the thicket nothing could be distingtiished. 



Discharging the rifle into the thicket, she endeavored 

 to tempt the robber into the open, but without success; 

 and she finally, and very wisely, concluded to return to 

 the house, leaving bruin alone with his prey. 



With the first light of morning she returned alone and 

 surprised the villain at his breakfast. Jumping up, he 

 ran rapidly into the open about 40yds. distant from her, 

 when he stopped, and turning round sat up facing her to 

 get a fairer view of the brave little huntress. The mark 

 was fair, her nerves were steady, and aiming at the butt 

 of his ear (his head was turned slightly sideways) she 

 took a fair off-hand shot and fired. He "tumbled at the 

 crack of the rifle, a lifeless heap. 



For feai- that he might be "possuming," she continued 

 tp "pump" bullets into him until five holes were punc- 

 tured in his black overcoat. 



He proved to be a beautiful specimen of about 30olbs. 

 weight, with a splendid coat of jet black hair, except that 

 on the top of his nose, which was yellowish brown in 

 color, 



Is not the little lady a true chip of the old block? And 

 may not the p roud old block record it? Qei n Belknap. 



AN ISLAND OF THE PACIFIC. 



^OWHERE in the United States can there be found a 

 1^ section of the country better adapted to all kinds of 

 outdoor sport than in southern California, and not the 

 least enjoyable, and destined to be one of tbe most popu- 

 lar of all recreations, is yachting in the southern waters, 

 Santa Barbara to San Diego. In the land of almost per- 

 petual sunshine outdoor life seems a necessity. Constant 

 and steady winds, and no fear of squalls, together with 

 the many accessible points of interest along shore and the 

 many islands oft" shore, tempt the amateur sailor to make 

 midsummer cruises in smaller boats with more canvas 

 than would be safe to use on the Atlantic coast. 



Last month four professional men of San Diego, all 

 fond of this fascinating pastime, set sail for Santa Catab'na 

 Island, 27 miles oft' the coast of Los Angeles county. The 

 boat, to be our home for a fortnight, was a 24ft. sloop- 

 rigged centerboard yacht, large enough abeam to have a 

 cabin for sleeping accom- 

 modations. The Daphne 

 was built for safety and 

 comfort as well as speed. 

 Leaving San Diego Bay, 

 passing the bold promon- 

 tory of Point Loma that 

 guards the harbor, a 

 course was laid for Santa 

 Catalina Island. 71 miles 

 northwest. After two 

 days' beating against a 

 westerly wind, Santa Cat- 

 alina loomed up about 30 

 miles dead ahead, looking 

 like a faint white cloud 

 high above the horizon; 

 on our beam appeared 

 another cloud , w hich 

 gradually outlined itself 

 into San Clement's Island, 

 where the now famous 

 Itata is supposed to have 

 taken arms and munitions 

 of war from an American 

 schooner, for the use of 

 the Chilean insurgents. 

 These islands rise from 

 the sea as if peaks of im- 

 mense submerged moun- 

 tains. The highest of the 

 many peaks of Santa Cat- 

 alina is over 2,000ft. above 

 sea level. 



Next morning our an- 

 chor was dropped in the 

 little bay of Avalon, a 

 small settlement of tents 

 and cottages which dot 

 the sides of the steep hills 

 encircling the tiny harbor 

 of the island. Boom ! 

 sounded the Daphne's 

 salute, fired from a 

 heavily- charged shotgun, 

 that awoke the echoes 

 among the surrounding 

 cliffs like the report of 

 a ten-pounder. Our yacht 

 looked small, indeed, 

 alongside the larger 

 yachts that enlivened the 

 scene. And when our 

 two-hundred-pound cap- 

 tain crawled out on the 

 bowsprit to furl the jibs 

 the motion of the boat 

 caused thereby compelled 

 the Judge in the cockpit 

 to overrule the motion 

 instanter. The crew went 

 ashore attired in the only 

 clothes aboard — old ones, 

 protected by pugarees, improvised from handkerchiefs 

 sewed to our "hats, and armed with the omnipresent 

 picture-box. 



The island is about 22 miles long, about 4 miles in 

 width and extremely rocky, although one may anchor 

 within 20yds. from shore. 



The fishing season had opened and the king of the 

 Pacifio, the jewfish, was biting freely; sea bass were 

 caught from the wharf. The difference between these 

 fish appears to be one of size only. A photograph of the 

 largest jewfish taken shows it to be 6ft. 4in. in length 

 and tipping the beam at 3501bs. 



Many years ago, when Santa Catalina Island was a 

 paj-t of Mexican territory, the Government stocked it 

 with goats for the use of mariners. These animals have 

 increased in number and have lost every trace of domes- 

 ticity. Hunting wild goats here is rare sport if the hun- 

 ter be a fair shot and willing to endure the fatigue of a 

 day's tramp over the sugar-loaf peaks of the island. 

 Nothing smaller than a .45 60 rifle is used and one seldom 

 has a shot closer than 200yds. 



The ground is almost entirely destitute of vegetation, 

 except in the cafions, where cacti of every variety and 

 thick undergrowth offer shelter for innumerable quail. 

 Here and there a rattler gave us friendly warning of his 

 presence. The few pleasant days were spent cruising 

 around the island, watching the noisy seals and the timid 

 flying fish pursued by its natural enemy the shark, or 

 putting in at the many inviting coves to sleep ashore 

 beneath the stars in this wonderfully dry climate, and 

 the time seemerl only too short. Can you imagine a more 

 delectable existance'than such life on an island in the 

 blue Pacific? The slight traces of civilization compared 

 with the handiwork of nature here seem like scratches 

 on the side of a mountain, and when the dolce far niente 

 life aboard a tight little craft with congenial companions 

 to relieve the monotony of solitude, cares seem light as 

 sea-foam, to be wafted away by the slightest breeze. 



The run back to San Diego v^as made with a free sheet 

 in less than thirty hours. Returning, the troll lines were 

 thrown out and the sport of catching the gamy albuquo, 

 the Spanish mackerel and the toothsome barracuda, sea 

 bass and yellow tails was enjoyed until dark, ThQ 



