446 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



iDEO, 24, 1891. 



THE DESERTED NEST. 



T) ARE are tlie boTiglis, save to fchoir tips still clinging, 



The vagrant orioles' deserted nest. 

 Its tattered fragments in the breezes swinging, 

 In idle mockery of its summer rest. 



The patient weaver, at her labors busy. 

 Has waked us often with the morning light, 



Or darting downward from her summit dizzy, 

 Flashed like a meteor across our sight. 



Sombre in hue, like Portia's leaden casket, 

 Once tilled like that, with a most precious priae. 



It hangs in air, a broken, ragged basket, 

 Its contents scattered under sunnier skies. 



Beneath the sheltering foliage closely shaded 

 It shunned the prying schoolboy's eager gaze. 



While the slim twig, to which 'tis deftly braided. 

 Offered no foothold for the sqiiirrel's ways. 



Naught cares the bird for her deserted dwelling, 

 Free as the air on which she spreads her wing. 



Her breast ere now with warmer l)reezes swelling, 

 Perchance another melody she sings. 



So with ourselves, through many a clime and nation. 

 In search of wealth or fame, we wander wide. 



Knowing for yeara no settled habitation, 

 To no one spot on earth's fair surface tied. 



Still, as the bird with summer's sun returning, 

 Finds the old tree in which to hang her nest; 



So we, our hearts for childhood's pleasures yearning. 

 Seek the old home, our wanderings o'er, to rest! 



"Pilgrims on earth, with no abiding city," 

 Through what far planet are we yet to roam? 



Where shall we rest when heavenly love and pity 

 Shall end our toils in our eternal home? 



Von 



DEC, 16, 1S91. 



IN MAINE WOODS.— V. 



IN CAMP, Piscataquis County, Me., Oct. 30. — At last 

 our good weather lias come. Yesterday and to-day 

 have been great days for hunting on the caribou bogs, 

 and great days we have had. Yesterday morning we 

 started for a long paddle across the lake to the carry— 

 my first real chance in a canoe this season. Clorious in 

 their snowy mantle stood the mountains. If in summer 

 they are fine, in winter they are transcendent. More- 

 over, this morning we can enjoy the winter vieAv while 

 we ourselves are bathed in the mild, delicious air of an 

 Indian summer day. We reach the carry and in light 

 marching order start across. Part of the pleasure of this 

 trip is the remembrance of the morning three years ago 

 when I went over this same path. 



In fact, the only thing I have against these Maine 

 woods is that I cannot go anywhere else for my annual 

 outing, or if I do, I am thinking of the old haunts. It is 

 like fishing a familiar stream, and every angler knows 

 the fun of trying the same pool where he took that par- 

 ticularly big and gamy trout last year, or the riffle where 

 he lost the still bigger one the year before. 



We reached the "thoroughfare" at the other end of the 

 cai-ry only to find it frozen over for nearly a mile. It is 

 sheltered from the wind and closes up long before the 

 lake. No use to get out the canoe which we know is 

 hidden in the thicket. It means a nearly three-mile walk 

 to the bog. WhUe we stand inspecttug the shores we see 

 deer across the bend. The glass shows them to be a doe 

 and two fawns. It would be hard to see a prettier sight. 

 Shyly the mother reconnoiters and sniffs the air for dan- 

 ger, turning her large ears this way and that. The wind 

 is right for us and she fears no harm, and the glass shows 

 us their every motion. They are a long rifle-shot away, 

 but we would not even startle the pretty trio. The doe 

 steps down to the edge and we can hear her dainty hoof 

 as she stamps to try the ice. The two fawns crowd up, 

 one on each side, and for a minute their three heads are 

 bunched as closely as they can crowd. "No, children, it 

 isn't strong enough yet." That is plainly what she says, 

 and they nibble a twig or two and step back into the 

 thicket. So do we, and start for the bog. The sight we 

 have seen alone pays us for the tramp. 



So here again is my fine old bog, half covered with 

 young larches, with here and there an open pool of 

 water. Here is where I shot the caribou on my last 

 trip. Most of the wood-dwellers that 1 know come out 

 to see us— all, in fact, but the caribou and the white- 

 throated sparrows, whose clear whistle usually greets me 

 here. We circle around the edge of the bog. A cock 

 spruce partridge flusters up into a young tree, and at 

 stort range for ten minutes we inspect him through the 

 glass. How fine a fellow he is! He croons and cackles 

 to himself in a self-satisfied and conceited tone, and 

 puffs out his side pouches and tufts of cheek feathers till 

 it looks as though he wore bushy and projecting side and 

 chin whiskers. The band of scarlet over his eye is the 

 most brilliant imaginable. Finally, when he and we are 

 fully satisfied with the interview he takes a short flight 

 and we move on, A Canada jay comes along with noise- 

 less flight, and most curious and fearless of birds, alights 

 nearer and nearer to us, looks us over, preens his loose 

 and almost hairy feathers a bit and passes on. A fine 

 buck and doe have been watching us under a leaning 

 tree a little way mthin the edge of the woods. The wind 

 suddenly gives them our scent, and with a great snort 

 they burst away, and we merely catch an instant's 

 glimpse of them and a flirt of their white pocket-hand- 

 kerchiefs. 



We are after caribou, but not a sign of them even do 

 we discover on the whole bog— not even an old track. 

 To-morrow, like as not, a dozen may be here. They are 

 the greatest travelers and most capricious animals in the 

 woods, one day on the bogs, the next clambering around 

 the highest cliffs of the mountains, and the next investi- 

 gating matters in the next county. 



Two or three ruflCed grouse burst up and fly away as 

 we return. I think with amusement of the many articles 

 recently published in Forest and Stream on "The 

 Habits of Ruffed Grouse" — the funny thing about them 

 being that they differ so much ajid yet are, doubtless, all 

 true^ while each writer records his experience as the uni- 



versal rule. The truth is that these birds vary in their 

 habits and behavior toward man as their experience 

 varies. Your ruffed grouse learns readily from experi- 

 ence. While a drumming grouse may, as one corre- 

 spondent relates, be far from shy in Jkjoostook county, 

 he is, as Miss Hardy relates, a marvelously wary one in 

 other counties — for example, Piscataquis, as lhave many 

 a time proved, and that, too, in the depths o£ the forest. 



Though our caribou hunt had nothing to do with cari- 

 bou, it was a glorious day and full of rewards. We 

 found at the camp three men and one dog. They were 

 here a few days ago. They have dogged several deer on 

 another lake, and are back here to hai-ry these woods 

 again. 



Another night and another warm, still day is ours, and 

 we start for another pull across the lake hi another direc- 

 tion, to visit some other bogs and some hard-wood ridges 

 famed for deer. As we paddle away from shore we see 

 one of these men posted on a point with rifle and canoe, 

 while another has gone to put the hound on the track. 

 We a little later hear the single rifle shot, the signal 

 that a deer has been started. Later, the yelp of the fox- 

 hound is heard, and later still, the three successive rifle 

 shots that tell us that the deer is dying. 



We chose the mountain side instead of the bogs. The 

 day was so still that every footfall in the new-fallen 

 leaves could be heard. We started two deer, could hear 

 them bounding away, and then the thrice-repeated whoof 

 of the buck as he snorted his astonishment. The wind 

 waa again wrong for us, we were lazy, the sunlight was 

 warm and delightful, and we sat long on the top of a 

 ridge in full and happy enjoyment of it, not caring in the 

 least that we had in the two days fired only one shot. 

 That shot decapitated another partridge and was the work 

 of the guide. But the day was full of happiness to its 

 close, which finds me wrathful and unhappy. As we 

 paddled down the lake we hoped our visitors of the night 

 before had taken their deer and left. But they had 

 staid, and two more parties of two each had arrived, and 

 two others are camping a mile or two down the lake. 

 Two deer were hung up, and we arrived just in season to 

 see the death of the third. The dog was yelping on its 

 track, soon it appeared in the water a half mUe away, 

 and instantly three canoes, each manned by two men, 

 started in hot pursuit. A shot, and the deer, its head 

 riddled by buckshot, yields its life. All three of the deer 

 killed here to-day are does. There are camped on this 

 point to-night nine men, and two more are further down 

 the lake. The homes of all but myself are in this county. 

 There are here to-night six dogs. 



It is a butchering place, a shambles for deer. Active 

 preparatious have been made for to-morrow's "sport," 

 meanwhile the fitting finale of the day has come, and the 

 one I anticipated when I saw the big jug of rum which 

 formed a part of their duffle. A drunken shindy is going 

 on in the cookiug camp, and the air resounds with the 

 noise of their breakdowns and vile shouts and curses, 

 which in our sleeping tent we cannot choose but hear. 



C. H. Ames. 



SPORT AT PALMER'S LAKE, TEXAS. 



"/^UT for a day?" was the pleasant greeting we re- 

 v_/ ceived from our old companion G. one bright 

 morning about the middle of last October, while mounted 

 on top of our stores in a country wagon, which was to con- 

 vey us that paradise of sportsmen, beautiful Palmer's 

 Lake. 



"Not for a day, but a week," I reply. After a warm 

 shake of the hand, God speed, and a promise to visit us 

 during the week, we whip up our horses and proceed 

 toward our destination, 25 miles distant. 



The party consisted of Dr. J. Keef , myself and Matt, 

 our man of all work — all first class lovers of sport and 

 jolly good fellows. We reach the lake about 4 o'clock 

 P. M. , and Matt, our Man Friday, soon has things in shape, 

 our tents up and camp cots arranged for solid comfort, 

 with mosquito netting well stretched, to "keep out the 

 pesky varmints" as they are called by the Doctor. The 

 next move was to get our Osgood boat in trim, and in a 

 few minutes it floated gracefully upon the surface of the 

 lake, that lay like a gem in the heart of Trinity bottom 

 forest, surrounded by large cypress trees, from which the 

 gray moss hangs in festoons of sombre hue, contrasting 

 strangely with the whiteness of the water lilies that line 

 the shores of the lake in great profusion. Our Man Fri- 

 day soon had a roaring fire, which when reduced to coals 

 was to furnish our Indian oven with heat necessary to 

 bake rolls for supper. Keef and I take the boat to" try 

 our hand at croppy, while the Doctor glides like a phan- 

 tom into the dark forest to a ^ath about a mile distant 

 that leads to an old Indian croBsing on the Trinity, to try 

 his luck for venison, this being a favorite catering place 

 for deer. 



Keef and I paddle noiselessly about half a mile and 

 finally anchor, or rather tie up to a bunch of snags of an 

 old pine tree, which had evidently drifted and settled 

 there years before, about a quarter distant from the shore. 

 We sit patiently about half an hour before we catch a 

 fish, upon which we depend for bait, for croppy do not 

 readily take the worm. Keef lands the first one, and a 

 beautiful specimen it was, with its armor of silver scales, 

 dotted here and there with spots "dark as the raven's 

 wing." It seemed a shame that such a thing of beauty 

 would have to be sacrificed for bait, and I could not for- 

 bear a sigh of pity as Keef ruthlessly tore the scales from 

 the side of his fluttering victim. He proceeds to cut the 

 fish into strips about the length of a minnow, and soon 

 we have a dozen fine specimens of about *lb. each in 

 weight. That being enough for supper, we pull for 

 camp. 



"Strange we have not heard the Doctor fire," says 

 Keef. 



"Guess he has had no occasion to," I I'eply; "but I hope 

 to taste venison ere another stm gilds the eastern hori- 

 zon." 



Boom! boom! comes the dull report of Doctor's "trusty." 



"Venison, by George!" shouts Keef. "Venison, by 

 George!" replies the echo, so startlingly distinct that it 

 almost seemed the Doctor was standing at the edge of 

 the opposite shore and had repeated Keef's words. 



In a little while we reach shore, and soon Matt has the 

 pan sizzling merrily over the fire, chanting while at work, 

 "Eat sheep meat and gnaw the bones," in negro dialect. 

 His chant in the gathering shadows of the forest, his 

 ebony hue flitting before the fire and the ivJio, who of the 

 owl coijibine to make surroundings that involuntarily 



stir the superstitious feelings of one, which will ctpp out 

 at times. 



The crashing of branches announces the arrival of the 

 Doctor, but no soft-eyed deer has fallen under the fire of 

 his "trusty"; however, what is equally as palatable — a 

 fine gobbler — hangs limp and lifeless from his shoulder, 

 and is duly admired by Keef and myself, Matt announces 

 supper. The way those rolls, fish and potatoes disap- 

 peared would cause a dyspeptic to grow green with envy. 

 After satisfying the inner man and swapping yarns, we 

 turn in, to live over in dreams the incidents of our even- 

 ing's sport. 



The Doctor is first to wake next morning, and after bis 

 coft'ee, with a cold lunch in his knapsack to keep the 

 wolf away, he starts again in quest of noble game, calling 

 to us as he leaves, "Boys, if I do not get back in time for 

 supper, do not feel uneasy, for I have promised you ven- 

 ison, and venison you shall have, if it takes me a week." 

 And he was soon out of sight. 



"Jim, suppose we see what we can do with bass this 

 morning." 



"Good," he replied; and after a hearty breakfast we 

 step lightly into the boat. 



"Now, old boy," I remark, "if you do not catch bass 

 it will not be for want of artistic work of the paddle." 



"You work the paddle and I'll do the rest,'' gi'unted 

 Jim, 



The words were scarcely spoken, when splash, splash, 

 goes the water, and two immense bass rush for the deer- 

 tail fly at the same time. A vigorous tug, and away 

 dashes the king of game fishes, the reel meanwhile sing- 

 ing the sweetest strain that ever gladdened the heart of 

 an ardent fisherman. "Keep cool," I caU in low tones, 

 "for he is a dandy." 



Hither and thither rushes the frenzied victim, at times 

 leaping high in the air, its side ghstening in the sunlight, 

 rivaling in beauty the tints of the matchless opal. Too 

 much slack tells the story, and as Jim reels in the now 

 empty line, sorrowfully quotes: 



"Of all sad words of tongue or pen, 

 The saddest are, 'There! I'm left again'." 



The bass continue to rise almost at every cast, mttch to 

 the gratification of Keef, who by 10 o'clock has landed 

 eighteen specimens of this magnificent fish, as fine as one 

 would wish to see. Jim now reels in his line, and sootl 

 we lie beneath the spreading branches of a large magnolia 

 tree, inhaling the balmy, pine-scented air of the forest, 

 lazily watching Matt digging a trench in which to bake 

 our turkey Indian fashion. Reader, if you have never 

 eaten game cooked in this style, just try it the first oppor- 

 tunity, and my word for it, you will pronounce it the 

 most toothsome morsel it has ever been your good fortune 

 to taste. But in this I am like the two darkies who could 

 find no subject to discuss, when Pomj) suggested they talk 

 of something good to eat. "Well, how erbout 6aked 

 possum an' sweet tatersy" said Sam. Pomp replied, 

 "Hush your mouf , nigger, dat's too good to talk erbout. 

 I'se hungry now." Like Pomp, even as I write, the mem- 

 ory of that feast makes me absolutely hungry. 



The Doctor arrived about the time our evening meal 

 was ready, accompanied by Mr. Morgan, the veteran b'ar 

 hunter of that section, carrying between them, tied to a 

 pole, a magnificent buck. Morgan yelled as they hove in 

 sight, "Here we come. Somebody head us off," which 

 Keef and I immediately do, executing an Indian war 

 dance in our delight at the prospect for venison steaks. 



The next afternoon G. arrived and expressed astonish- 

 ment at our display of fish and game, there being at the; 

 time about 401bs. of bass and croppy in the fish can, all 

 alive and kicking; the most of the deer and eleven squir- 

 rels, all skinned and skewered on sticks ready to oar- 

 becue. 



G. and the Doctor decide to try for another deer the 

 next morning, Keef, Morgan and the writer conclude to 

 cut a bee tree that Morgan has located at the head of the 

 lake. After all ai-rangements are completed Morgan re- 

 gales us with an account of a lively tussle he had with a 

 bear a few days before. The bear had entered his pen in 

 broad daylight and attempted to carry off a young pig. 



"Wall, boys," he told us "me and Martha [his wifel was 

 talking about the log-rolling that war to come off the 

 next night, when I heard a pig squeal, and on going to 

 the door, what did I see but ole Cuff taking off one of my 

 shoats, carrying him in bis arms just the same as a mother 

 carries a child. The pig was hollering flc to kill hisself , but 

 bruin kept a-walking. Every once in a while he'd give 

 the shoat a slap to kinder hush him up. I called to 

 Martha to hand me Old Dob, that war standing in the 

 corner, and I run, jumped the fence and cut loose. Co ft' 

 war hard hit, he dropped the shoat and made for me, 

 but Morgan was thar, all ready to entertain Mr. Bruin > 

 i so I pulled out my hunting knife and waded in. Boys, 

 I we fit much; and I got some putty hard licks, but if you 

 will come over to the house I will show you a b'ar skin 

 worth seeing." 



Morgan continued to relate backwoods adventures, 

 many of them very entertaining, until 10 o'clock, when 

 all retired and slept as only tired hunters can sleep. 



The morning broke clear and cool, and we all departed 

 from camp accordin.f to previous arrangementsr Our 

 party soon reach the case of operation, which proves to 

 be alarge gum tree; the sound of the ax awakens the 

 echoes of the forest, and in a little while the mighty gum 

 falls with a deafening crash. The bees swarm out and 

 give battle. They attack Keef and me vigorously, and 

 being tenderfeet in robbing bee trees we beat a hasty 

 retreat, fighting wildly with hats, arms and legs, much 

 to the amusement of Morg-an, who proceeds to rob the 

 tree as though it was a most pleasant task. The plunder 

 is five gallons of pure white honey. We return to camp, 

 and after a free use of arnica strain our honey. 



The Doctor and G. get back about 5 o'clock and report 

 having killed two deer, which are brought in on horse- 

 back a little later by an old darky whom they had met 

 in the woods trying to locate some stray hogs. 



Early next morning we break camp and return to the 

 city, having spent one of the most successful and j^leas- 

 ant outings we have ever had, all happy and healthy, 

 looking forwai-d with delight to our next trip, which will 

 be early in the spring of 1892. J. C, W. 



If your shooting friend does not read Forest and Stream 

 v}hy not fjive Mm a OJirisimas present omddoa little, missionary 

 work at the same time hy mbscribinrj to the fafer for Mm. It 

 ■mil gite Mm pleasure ffty-iwo times a year. Do you realise 

 that ri£xt year $4 'will buy you 1664 of th^se big pages, and all 

 of them devoted to wholesome, manly sfmi. 



