376 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



|NoT. S, 1892. 



A NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 



One day late in the fall of 1887 just before the first 

 snow fall of winter, I left my husband's lumber camp to 

 return to my home in the settlement, a distance of three 

 miles through the woods, and as the afternoon was well 

 advanced when I started, 1 knew that I must walk, 

 briskly to reach home before nightfall, for as I must ferry 

 myself across the Penobscot River at a point where the 

 water ran very swiftly, and the boat and oars all being 

 well coated with ice, it would be unpleasant and perhaps 

 dangerous to attempt to cross after night had fairly shut 

 down. Eealizing this I hurried along the path, over 

 which I had been many times before. 



At a distance of a mile and a half from the camp the 

 path ran through a swamp that was now flooded with 

 water from recent rains. At this point I was obliged to 

 leave the path and go through the woods to avoid a sloueh 

 that was about fifty rods in length. But I stepped boldly 

 into the woods, never dreaming but that I should make 

 connections all right and strike the road at a point below 

 the slough. 



After some minutes" rapid walking I found I was 

 diverging from the right direction, but how much I could 

 not tell. I should have reached the path by this time if 

 I had kept the proper course, still I was not uneasy, for I 

 thought surely a few moments more will bring me out to 

 the path, or 1 shall find some indications of its being near, 

 trusting to chance to guide me aright. I soon found my- 

 self in a dense thicket of alder bushes just high enough 

 to reach a couple of feet above my head, and growing as 

 thickly together as the quills on the back of a porcupine. 

 It was impossible to see a rod clearly in any direction. 

 Working my way slowly along, I at last got clear of the 

 alders and found myself on more open ground. I could 

 see off' at my left a sharp narrow ridge which I recog- 

 nized as a range of small hillocks called the "horse-back" 

 which began on the east bank of the Penobscot, at a point 

 near my home, and terminated ten or twelve miles to the 

 east, i made my way toward this ridge, thinking that 

 I could easily follow along its summit, which was in no 

 place more than 100ft, across, and so reach home safely. 

 But when I had gained the top of the ridge I found I 

 had not the least idea in which direction to turn. Was 

 the way home toward the right or toward the left? I did 

 not know. My self-confidence now deserted me, and I 

 was obliged to recognize the full grown startling fact 

 that I was lost. Daylight bad now entirely faded and 

 the faint light afforded by the stars seemed only to make 

 everything more indiatinet, There was no wind moving, 

 everything was sombre and still. A? I stood there in the 

 weird silence, a feeling of helpless, hopeless loneliness 

 came over me impossible to describe. It is like no other 

 sensation. It is not exactly fear, but a stupefying, un- 

 reasoning, withering dread of you know not what. The fact 

 that it is entirely uncalled for— and as in my case there 

 was no cause for fear — only makes it the more aggravat- 

 ing. I sat down on a fallen tree, resolved to conquer and 

 banish this foolish, helpless feeling, and when I had so 

 far succeeded as to be able to reason clearly, I made up 

 my mind that I must stay in the woods all night sure. I 

 knew no one would think of looking for me until the 

 next day, for my husband would iielieve me safe at home, 

 while those at home would think that I had concluded to 

 stay at the camp, as I had often jdone. So there was 

 nothing for me but to accept the situation with the beat 

 grace possible. 



I always carry a revolver when walking in the woods, 

 for 1 will confess to being terribly afraid of a bear. I 

 am sure I don't know why 1 should be so much afraid 

 of them, for I consider the common black bear quite 

 harmless unless attacked, and the black bear is the only 

 sort found in this vicinity. 1 have seen them quite fre- 

 quently in my rambles in the woods and have sometimes 

 been quite near them, but they always seemed to be as 

 anxious to increase the distance between us as I was, 

 and that is saying a good deal. In taking my revolver 

 from my pocket to examine and reload it if necessary I 

 found two bunches of matches, placed there for safe 

 keeping by some one while my jacket hung on the wall 

 in the camp. With the revolver and matches in my 

 possession I began to think my situation not so bad after 

 all. I could now build a fire and, I believed, get through 

 the night with some degree of comfort, 



I now began to look about for something with which 

 to build my fire and some suitable place in which to 

 build it. Walking along a few rods I found a pine tree 

 lying on the ground that had evidently been shattered by 

 lightning. It gave a royal heap of kindling wood all 

 ready for a match, which I was not long in applying. 

 After my fire was well under way, and as the moon had 

 now risen, I walked along the top of the ridge. Though 

 determined not to lose sight of my fure, I was not satis- 

 fled with my accommodations for tbe night and still 

 had a faint hope of finding something that would enable 

 me to find my way out. The light from the fire would 

 be visible a long distance, as there was nothing to in- 

 tercept it. The undergrowth had been burned away 

 years before, leaving here and there a dead tree, with 

 the bark fallen oflE, standing white and ghostly in the 

 moonlight. As I moved along slowly and cautiously 

 for fear of stumbling, I suddenly heard a sound that 

 fairly froza me. I knew what it was too well, I had 

 often heard it before, but never when I was alone; it 

 was the sound of some animals tearing rotten wood in 

 search of insects. My old fear of a bear returned, rein- 

 forced by the hour, the place, and the fact that I was 

 alone and lost in the woods. I could think of no other 

 animal that procured its food in that manner or whose 

 strength enabled him to rent and break wood with such 

 violence. 



After I had stood listening for perhaps five minutes, 

 though it seemed five lifetimes, my mind began to take 

 in the situation, and I thought that if I returned to my 

 fire without disturbing this unseen terrorizer, I should 

 be in a shiver of dread all through the long night, but if 

 I went near him and frightened him, and 1 could see him 

 run away as I felt sure he would, then I should have no 

 more fear of him. So, by taking my courage in both 

 hands and telling myself what amiserable coward I was, 

 and how I should despise a man with no more physical 

 courage than I was now displaying, I forced myself to 

 advance steadily toward the sound, which etill continued. 



I walked very softly, for I did not wish to frighten the 

 creature before I had an opportunity to see him. I soon 

 discovered him on the trunk of a leaning rotten stub 

 quietly working away. He did not hear me come up. 



The shadows prevented me at first from getting a fair 

 view of him, but presently he slightly changed his posi- 

 tion and turned his head and looked at me over his shoul- 

 der as I stood about twelve feet distant, and then, thank 

 heaven! I saw it was not a bear. I was so overjoyed to 

 find that it was not my special torment that the brute's 

 round, glistening eyes and gleaming white teeth as he 

 drew his upper lip back with a snarl, looked to me almost 

 pleasant. It was a Canadian lynx. Those who have 

 ever seen one of those cowardly creatures with its ugly, 

 cat-like head, will agree with me when 1 affirm that this 

 fellow was a scary-looking chap, as he gazed at me with- 

 out moving a muscle. I was so intensely gTatified to find 

 that it was not a bear that had caused me such a wretched 

 fright that for a moment I stood perfectly still, with no 

 other feeling save that of thankfulness. Then, while the 

 brute continued to gaze into my eyes the thought came 

 to me that if I could shoot him I should have something 

 to tell of, and perhaps it would not be unseemly to brag 

 about it a very little, considering the circumstances. I 

 knew it would be a difficult thing to do, owing to the 

 uncertain light, but I determined to try it at any rate. 

 Slowly moving my hand toward my pocket I drew out 

 my revolver, and taking aim as well as I could at the 

 broad forehead of the lynx, I fired. He sprang nearly 

 five feet into the air and fell dead not more than three 

 yards from my feet. The ball had penetrated his head 

 just above the eye. It was a good shot and I was corre- 

 spondingly elated with it. 



Ij^aving my prize where it lay I retraced my steps 

 a short distance, and, turning to the right, continued to 

 make my way in the same direction in which I was 

 walking when my "bear" drew my attention from all 

 earthly concerns, and held it fixed exclusively on himself. 

 After walking perhaps a mile, for I had little idea of 

 distance and none of time, and I could just seeaglimmer 

 of light from the burning pine. I came to a break in my 

 elevated roadway, a notch in the horseback— I knew of 

 several such. I also knew that the lumber men some- 

 times made use of those natural gateways to pass through 

 the horseback with their teams. And if there should 

 prove on examination to be a path through this one I 

 might yet reach a human habitation and not be obliged 

 to pass the night in the woods. It was worth trying for, 

 anyhow. Clambering down the steep side of the notch 

 I reached the bottom, where it was so dark I could not 

 see a yard before me, but a few steps brought me out into 

 the moonlight, which was still insuffieieat to allow me 

 to make a close examination of the groimd. Lighting a 

 match and holding it near the ground, I saw the prints 

 of horses' hoofs plainly outlined in the soft earth. It 

 being late at night I reasoned that the teams that had 

 made these tracks were the.last that had passed, and were 

 on their way homeward, their destination being probably 

 some camp in the vicinity. Lighting a match every few 

 rods to make sure of the hoof prints, I traveled perhaps a 

 mile, when 1 came in sight of a glimmer of light; drawing 

 nearer I found it came from the window of a camp. I 

 walked up to the front entrance, and, looking through 

 the window, I saw a number of men mending their gar- 

 ments, making axe handles or playing checkers, but none 

 whom I Icnew. I passed around to the back door, sure of 

 finding the cook in tliis direction. 1 was cold, tired and 

 hungry, and glad to find a warm place with people about 

 me once more. I rapped on the door and it was opened 

 by a stranger, A man who was reading at the table 

 looked up as I came in. To my amazement it was my 

 husband. The man who opened the door was the cook, 

 the men who opened the front door were all well knovs n 

 to me, but I was so completely daz'^d, so lost as it were, 

 that I did not recogniy.e them. The next morning my 

 husliand accompanied me home, and then, after a long 

 search, foimd and brought home my lonj) eervier, and I 

 hope never again to be lost in the woods at night. 



Maine, 1892. M. A. P. 



THE PANTHER'S SCREAM. 



"Stanstead" seems to think that it is a myth. 



Possibly it may be, but if so it is a terribly realistic 

 one when heard in the forest after night. 



It might be almost impossible to prove that the panther 

 has a demoniac yell, because it is always uttered in the 

 silent watches of the night in the forests, on the inac- 

 cessible cliffs of the mountains, or under other condi- 

 tions in which the animal cannot be seen. 



And yet, that the panther does scream, the writer has 

 no more doubt than he has of anything that is not de- 

 monstrable by ocular or other incontestible proof. 



Did "Stanstead" ever hear the wailing of the wind as 

 it shrieked at his window on a cold and blustering 

 December night? 



Doubtless, yes! But can he prove that it was the wind 

 and not a "myth?" Did he see it when it rattled his 

 casement and screamed its loud lament in the silent 

 watche§i of the night? 



Supposing that "Stanstead," on one of his rambles 

 afield, should find a dog sitting close behind the man- 

 gled carcass of a sheep, so recently killed that the eye 

 was not yet glazed, that the dog was busily engaged 

 licking blood stains from his own breast and legs, with 

 tufts of wool yet sticking between his teeth, would he, 

 or would he not, firmly believe that the dog had been 

 guilty of killing his own mutton? 



Well, "Stanstead" could be no surer of the facts in 

 either of these cases than the writer is that the panther 

 does scream. It is not much of a story, but such as it is 

 I give it, 



I*i was away back "befo' the wah, sah!" in the summer 

 of Lincoln's first campaign, I was spending my holidays 

 with a young friend in Clinton county, N, Y. Poor fel- 

 low; he sprang to arms at his country's first call in the 

 following year and died in the Chickahominy swamps. 

 I was there at his invitation to join him in an outing in 

 the Adirondacks, We went into the Saranac region and 

 spent four weeks among the trout, and on our return 

 made arrangements to return in late October for a week's 

 deer hunting. 



The time came around, and I returned to keep my ap- 

 is ^intrnent. I found that Charley (that was my young 

 friend's name) had all arrangements made and had en- 

 gaged an old deer hunter of great local fame, to accom- 

 pany UB on our trip. 



I will not linger over details, but will come down to 

 the night on which I got into a cold "funk" while watch- 

 ing a deer lick. 



We had been in the woods for a week and had met 

 with but poor luck. The dogs had started a number of 

 deer, but we somehow always got on the other runway 

 from that which they took. Our guide had succeeded in 

 killing two, but Charley and I had neither of us got a 

 shot. Our youthful hopes had been gradually dissipated 

 and we had got restless under our bad luck and wanted 

 to return home. The guide finally suggested that we 

 should V7atch a couple Of licks that he knew of at some 

 distance from camp. 



This we agreed to do, and taking our blankets with 

 us to wrap up in for warmth, we set out before dark and 

 he placed us separately at the licks, about a mile apart, 

 and returned to camp, giving us the bag to hold on the 

 snipe hunt. 



Confound his old picture! I know now that he had 

 been playing us for suckers all the way through, sending 

 us where he knew we would do no good, only to scare up 

 game for him to shoot at, and taking advantage of our 

 youthful enthusiasm to get all the easy work of camp 

 and make us do the hard and rough. 



The only reason why he sent us to the licks was to 

 nifike us so tired and sleepy the next day that we would 

 not want to start for home. 



He got fooled, though, that trip, for by sheer good luck 

 I killed a beautiful buck stone dead in his tracks, before 

 I had sat there for half an hour. It was pitch dark be- 

 fore I got his entrails out, and gathering the material for 

 a good fire I piled them up ready to ignite should it get 

 too cold before morning, and rolling myself up in the 

 blankets with my head pillowed on the buck's neck and 

 my gun under the blankets by my side, I fell fast asleep. 



It was past midnight when I awoke, 



I can scarcely call it awaking, for I just suddenly 

 changed from a condition of sound and dreamless slum- 

 ber to a perfect consciousness of all my surroundings, 

 and that a chill of nameless dread and terror was clog- 

 ging the blood in my veins, and that I was in some ter- 

 rible danger. 



I threw the blankets back, grabbed my gun and fired it 

 off into the darkness, without realizing what I was do- 

 ing, and then, with trembling hand, struck a match and 

 btarted my fire. 



As the first fitful flashes illumined the surrounding 

 gloom, my fear passed away, and I laughed at myself for 

 my silly terror. 



In a few moments 1 lay down again, and was becom- 

 ing gradually drowsy as I watched the sparks from my 

 fire, and the uwaying of the le^-ves overhanging it, as 

 they tossed about in the ascending current of hot air. 



Suddenly, from the depths of the forest, there burst 

 upon the silence a wailing cry, such as I had never heard 

 before, bixt which I knew at once to be a panther'^ voice 

 from descriptions of those who had heard it. To say 

 that I was frightened is hardly needful. I was not only 

 frightened, I was in a blue funk. The forest shades 

 became peopled with crouching, slinking forms, with 

 baleful eyes and glistening teeth, and I crouched with 

 my back to the fire, and followed with straining eyes 

 the flickering of the shadows among the trees, 



A-gain, upon the shuddering air came that cry, like a 

 human voice in despairing agony. Strange to say, this 

 second cry served to dispel a great part of my fear, and I 

 arose and replenished the fire. From that time until 

 morning I sat with my gun aci'oss my knees, keeping a 

 sharp lookout, but not really afraid. Remember, friends, 

 I was only 18, and a youth of that age is apt to get pretty 

 badly rattled under more favorable conditions than those. 



As soon as objects were fairly discernible in the gray 

 dawn, I raced into camp, routed old "Gash," the guide, 

 out of his blankets, got the dogs, and ran back to my 

 deer. 



The instant the dogs arrived they took the scent, and 

 went baying over the very locaUty Avhere the yells 

 came from during the night, and soon passed out of 

 hearing up the mountain side, We followed as fast as 

 we could in the direction they had taken and in half an 

 hour could hear them again. They had found and treed 

 the creature and in a few moments we came up to him 

 lying out upon the limb of a great birch tree, looking 

 down calmly at the baying dogs. 



A shot from each of our rifles tumbled him dead upon 

 the ground. We measured him as he lay, and from tip 

 to tip he was just 9ft. 



He was a male and a beauty, and had his skin not been 

 spoiled in the dressing I think it would still ornament 

 some corner of the old homestead as a remembrance of 

 the boy who early left the old home nest. 



Well, we skinned him and returned to get my deer and 

 pack him to camp. 



We examined the ground carefully around the scene of 

 last night's adventures, and found where the animal had 

 completely encircled the spot where the deer and I lay, 

 coming in one spot to within 20ft. of me, 



I believed then, and believe now, that it was only my 

 providential awakening and firing the gun that, kept the 

 creature from springing upon me. 



The tracks of all four of his feet could be plainly seen 

 in the soft earth, planted close together, and firmly sunk 

 in the ground, as though they had been imbedded by the 

 rocking motion that cats give themselves before they 

 spring in order to obtain firm footing. 



It may be that he would have sprung upon the carcass 

 of the deer instead of upon me, but I don't believe it. I 

 think he knew perfectly well that the deer was dead, but 

 that there was something else there that wasn't. 



On our return to camp we found Charley had breakfast 

 ready and impatient of our delay. He had seen no deer, 

 and had heard nothing during the night. In fact, I al- 

 ways thought, although he never acknowledged it, that 

 he soon went to sleep upon his watch and never woke up 

 till morning. 



Such are the grounds upon which I base my firm belief 

 in the panther's yell. 



If the sounds I heard that night were the products of 

 the imagination, or the "howlet's dismal cry," tbentbey 

 fitted in remarkably Close with the facts. 



Perhaps it was the voice of the loiip garouf 



^ ^ Aeefar. 

 Califobnia, October. 



This must be a fine stream for trout," said a pedestrian 

 to a man who was fishing. "I think so, too," said the 

 angler, for I have been fiabiuK here for an hrur and can't 

 get one to leave iV^— Boston Connnercial BnllGtin, 



