£48 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



THE MUSEUM MOOSE. 



CConcludedfrom page SS7.') 

 Breakfast over, Nuel started on his hunt for the cow- 

 moose. 



When he had gone, I busied myself more particularly 

 with the head. I was anxious if I could, to preserve the 

 shape, and more especially the ears, as I saw them in the 

 moonlight. I did not give such close attention to my 

 work though, as to prevent me from looking around and 

 noticing things more carefully than I had done. Although 

 the night had been so cool, the day was mild, and I ob- 

 seinred a good many; yellow-rump warblers, brown 

 creepers, ruby crown kinglets and chickadees, all around 

 me. There were other kinds of birds, I had no doubt. I 

 could see them flitting high up among the treetops, and 

 occasionally the screech of a red-shouldered hawk, or the 

 call of the blue jay would strike upon the ear. There 

 were loons upon the lake, but they were generally silent 

 imtil toward evening, while the chattering of the red 

 squirrel was heard every few minutes during the day 

 long. One of these lively little creatures appeared 

 especially interested in my work. 



But such a quiet day I think I never passed. I cooked 

 and ate my dinner alone. I walked down to the point 

 alone. I enjoyed the solitude alone, and admired the 

 foliage in all its varieties and brilliant shades and colors 

 alone. This was my only drawback. Oh, to have had a 

 brother sportsman or naturalist, to admire and enjoy this 

 fragrance and grandeur and solitude with me! 



It was late in the afternoon before I saw Nuel coming. 

 I was glad to see him, for I was beginning to feel op- 

 pressed with a sense of solitude. Then it had clouded up 

 since dinner and there was an ominous stillness (as on our 

 second day out) setting upon everything, Nuel's first 

 words as he landed were, "More rain comin' me tink. 

 You hear um loon holler soon. I mus get um blenty 

 wood." The loons did caU pretty soon — nor was it an. 

 hour after Nuel's arrival, before the glassy lake was 

 covered with tiny wavelets. 



We were snug though. There was plenty to eat, a good 

 fire burning, and we had secured what we came for. 



Hardly had we commenced our supper before he began. 

 "Doc' or, me know where big cow moose is. AUmos' get 

 shot at her. Too much open. She not scare do. No use 

 fright her. She what you call um 'booty.' Fine, big, 

 nice skin," 



"Did j'ou see her?" I inquired in pleasant surprise. 



"Yes, me say me see her. Me tot she roun' here. Me 

 have her morrow, next day. You wait um for me? " 



"Yes, I will wait a week for you to get her," replied I. 

 While at the same time I thought I would wait two, if 

 necessary. Could it be, I asked myself, that I am to be so 

 fortunate as to secure a pair on one expedition? 



Next morning it was raining hard when I woke up, 

 and it continued to rain off and on all day. I did not 

 mind this, for it was Sunday. Indeed I was rather 

 pleased than otherwise. It hindered Nuel from going 

 after the cow moose, without any interference of mine. 

 When he complained of the rain, and that he wanted to 

 go for the moose, I merely said, "This is Sunday. It 

 will do Indian good to have rest." 



"You sartin, Sunday?" inquired he. 



"Yes, certain, sure." 



"Well, xjrees he say no good luck hunt um on Sun- 

 day. If tine me wan' to go do, all same. Praps better 

 stay may be. Smoke um meat. No spoil um den." 



I had given him all the moose except what we would be 

 likely to want for our own use. This he said he would 

 smoke for winter and eat it when he came into this region 

 to trap. 



The smoking process commenced soon after breakfast. 

 He made his house and strung his slices between the 

 heavy showers. 



Sunday was a tedious day in camp. Had I not been 

 able to admire the head and horns of a moose, though, it 

 would have been far more tedious. Perhaps it was as well 

 for me that I could not go out. The damp weather made 

 me sensible that warmth was the best thing for my back. 



It was still raining when we went to sleep. At supper 

 Nuel had told me that he thought we werfe going to have 

 cooler weather. When I asked him why he thought so, 

 his reply w^as, "Saw um much bird on moose hunt. Leetle 

 one. Berry pooty. Make um leetle noise. Very busy. 

 Hunt um much w^orm. Catch um much fly." 



But next morning it was fine and clear again, with a 

 cool, bracing air. So clear was the air that one might 

 almost have supposed that the distant hills and forests had 

 been drawing nearer to us during the night, and every 

 hue and shade was visible. 



At breakfast Nuel commenced, "Doc'or, you no want 

 to go wid me. Me got go berry still. Not break urn stick. 

 Not switch um bush. Not make um no noise. You see 

 moose ne got um big ear (nodding toward the head). 

 Hear um much quick. Hab go berry sof." 



I saw that he preferred to be alone, and although I 

 had not much to do and would feel lonely when he was 

 gone, I said, "No, Nuel, I guess you had better go alone 

 and I will take care of my skin." 



"Yes, bes' so dis time. Woods wet. You kill um your 

 moose. Sorry no partridge here for you hunt. Too wil'. 

 Wan' um blackberry bush? Ole road. Stump fal' down. 

 Grow up. Only fool partridge roun' here. On spruce 

 tree, KiU um wid stick. Black meat. Strong. You no Hke 

 um." 



I understood all he meant to say. I wanted no spruce 

 partridge, nor ruffed grouse either, while I had plenty of 

 moose meat. And I also thought that Nuel's chances 

 of securing the cow moose were much better if he went 

 alone. 



When he had gone I spread out my skin again and ex- 

 amined it carefully, cut a little more flesh off the head, 

 and then laid it away. After that I watched the moose 

 birds— Canada jays— that had congregated around the 

 camp, and two red squirrels that seemed deeply interested 

 in all my movements, and a troop of chickadees and 

 nuthatches that came along about this time. 



But by noon the hours began to hang heavily on my 

 hands. I wanted something to do, and concluded that 

 after I had made myself a cup of coffee I would explore a i 

 little. Before 2 o'clock I was on the point. There was I 

 very little of interest there except the wildness of the sur- 

 roundings. Three loons were swimming and diving just ' 



beyond gunshot. Then I saw a kingfisher take his strong 

 and steady flight from one side of the lake to the other, 

 and five bluejays, after calling for a while, then passed 

 over. But the stillness of the place was depressing. There 

 was nothing but lake, shore and woods all around. If a 

 bear or a moose had walked out somewhere, or an otter 

 had put in an appearance, or even a muskrat, there would i 

 have been something to break the solitude. But no such 

 thing happened. I sat upon a rock and watched and 

 thought and admired, until the sun began to decline pretty 

 well in the west and no further signs of life appeared. 



After I had grown weary of the point I took a saunter 

 along the shore in hopes that a change of place might 

 produce some variety. In this I was mistaken. There 

 seemed to be the same silence everywhere — space, water, 

 woods. When I returned to the camp it was deep in the 

 shade. All the life that I saw about it was one of my 

 squirrels that whisked around a tree in pretended fear, 

 and then mounted a limb and commenced chattering at 

 me. 



At sundown I had my supper, preparing at the same 

 time enough for Nuel, whom I expected to find when I 

 returned to the camp. But no Nuel came. Dusk settled 

 and no Nuel. Then the mcion rose up in all her quiet 

 splendor. She shed her light right in the camp and made 

 the moose horns appear plainer than I saw^ them on the 

 night of his death. And now the silence was complete. 



There is something in the daylight that seems compan- 

 ionable, even when we are alone; but only solitude resides 

 in the moonbeams. It appeared particularly so this 

 night as I watched her rising, first through the trees on 

 the ridge of the hill opposite, then as her edge emerged 

 above them, then as she ascended higher and higher and 

 finally as everything around me was bathed in light and 

 cast in shade again. 



But still no Nuel. Twice as I sat listening I thought I 

 heard a moose call, but it did not come from the direction 

 the Indian had taken, but rather from the place we went 

 the first night we were out. 



It was nearly 10 o'clock now. I had just risen up from 

 under cover of the shanty to replenish the fire before 

 going to sleep, when there came a moose call from out on 

 the lake. This I knew at once must be the Indian's, and 

 sure enough only a few minutes elapsed before he was 

 with me again. There is something humanizing in a 

 man's company, though he be not of your own race, pro- 

 vided he is friendly. And so I found it now. It seemed 

 to me that I would not have been more pleased to see one 

 of my own blood than I was to see Nuel. 



He looked tired, and I had no doubt he was, and hun- 

 gry, too. I had everything prepared for him, even to his 

 tea poured out and his meat cooked. The meat, though, 

 was drier than I would have preferred it. It was brofied 

 when I cooked my own. 



"XJgha!" said he, coming up the bank, "How you do, 

 Doc'or. You tot me loss or sumfin happen, I s'pose, Xlgha, 

 you got um supper for me. Me glad." 



With this he sat down; and I was glad, too. I think: I 

 enjoyed seeing him eat as much as he did eating. He had 

 not eaten long before he said, "Me hab um no luck, Doc'or. 

 Cow moose gone 'way from dat place. Gone look for dat 

 bull you kill. No fine track. Mus' go nudder place in 

 mornin'. Me get um yet. T'ink me hear call from ober 

 dare." 



I told him what I thought I had heard twice, and then 

 he said: "Sartin dat cow callin', I look um in mornin." 



What was my astonishment the next morning, in look- 

 ing out, to see everything covered with snow at least four 

 inches deep. The hills and wooiis of yesterday, with their 

 beautiful colors and dark backgrounds, were all white; and 

 if the landscape of yesterday was monotonous, what could 

 we say of to-day? 



Nuel's fii-st remark was (I suppose as he saw my aston- 

 ishment), "Rabbit snow. All gone in hour, maybe two 

 hour. Good for me. Track um moose. Mus' make 

 base," 



What he wanted me to do was this: "Doc'or, me goin' 

 'cross where we were first night. Now me wan' you go 

 on shore — ^go up through wood to barn. Look um if you 

 see moose track goin' dat way where you kill moose. An' 

 if you fine um, you shoot um gun two time — bang! bang! 

 You un'erstan'? You do it? 

 "I understand. I will do it," 



"Snow not mel' much," he continued, "until sun come 

 out. Den you be at camp." 



This was the arrangement we made, and before the sun 

 commenced to scatter the snow clouds that lay in the east, 

 Nuel was off. 



I went soon after hedid, Isawthat he was determined, 

 if possible, to secure another moose, and I was just as anx- 

 ious as he was. 



Donning my thick coat, I marched out, following.the 

 course by which I had returned to camp the afternoon 

 before. It is not necessary to say that I found the woods 

 both cold and wet. Pick my way as I would, the snowy 

 limbs would hrush my hands, and in spite of my cap-peak 

 my face would get some, and occasionally a dash would 

 find its way down the back of my neck. Every leaf and 

 twig and bough that would hold any was loaded with it. 



But I found the place; and first through the hardwood 

 belt and then through the evergi-eens (spruce and fir) I 

 made my way. Not a track did I see of anything but 

 wood mice and squirrels and rabbits. Not a fox track (no 

 wolves where we were) nor a mink, nor a marten nor an 

 otter. Any one might have supposed that such things 

 were utterly unknown in that neighborhood. Before 10 

 o'clock I was at the camp again, and not sorry to be there 

 either. There was a little life around this. There were 

 my squirrels and jays, and before long the chickadees and 

 nuthatches looked in upon me. 



As Nuel had said, before noon the snow had all melted; 

 but I had not escaped its melting, and was only too glad, 

 after making up a good fire, to change and dry my clothes. 

 In the morning, from the camp, I had looked out on a 

 dreary waste of snow. Now the scene was entirely 

 changed. There was a beautiful and peaceful lake in 

 front, and beyond this a foliage of yellow and scarlet and 

 brown and green, that seemed to look all the brighter in 

 the sunlight now from the snow bath it had received. 

 The stUlness and wildness and beauty of the scene were 

 there, but not the dreary desolation of the woods in 

 winter. 



Time wore on. I tried to occupy myself in drying my 

 I clothes, doing some extra cooking, cutting up a tree that 



iwas lying on the beach, and fixing up a little round the 

 camp, 1 was engaged in this latter occupation when all 

 at once Nuel came running up the bank. I saw he had 



something pleasant to tell me, and I did not interrupt 

 him with inquiries. "Ugha, ' Who-rie!' white man say. 

 Me got um, Doc'or, sartin. Big cow moose. Big for cow 

 as you's for bull." 



" Have you? How glad I am." 



"Me t'ink me's mose glad. Blanket! clof I crowns." 



"Yes, and you shall have all, and one crown more, if 

 we get all home in safety." 



"We do it. . An' now we hurry, Mus' eat firs', do." 



While he was eating I learned that he had killed the 

 moose more than an hour before, and had at once set off for ij 

 me. His story was: "When me saw um dead, rae said, ij 

 now go for Doc'or. He wan' measure skin careful, save;' 

 bones. So me come. We go right 'way, w'en belly fuU, I 

 if you say so. We get dare fore berry dark. Make fire, i 

 sleep. Nice place for sleep, right by moose," . 



We were not long in making our preparations and i 

 starting off; and the sun was just leaving the treetops < 

 on the highest point arotm'd the lake when we landed on 

 the opposite shore. 



After taking the baggage out and turning the canoe 

 over among the bushes, Nuel said: "Now, Doc'or, walk 

 fas'. Get dare fore berry dark." 



And we did walk fast so long as there was any chance . 

 to do so; but long before we reach^-d the place where the ' 

 moose was lying, I tumbled and scratched my face more 

 than once. It seemed to me that the distance must have 

 been a good five miles from the canoe. Just before we 

 got there Nuel said, "Wait um minit. Where big tree? 

 Ole limb in crotch. Spruce bush near it. Log close by. 

 Ugha, me see um." And so we walked up near the place 

 he indicated; sure enough, there was another moose, and, 

 it seemed to be nearly as large as the one I had killed, 

 only without horns, ^ 



"Dat please you, Doc'or. Dat good, what you call um 

 pessimen?" 



"Yes, that is a fine one, I suppose; that is a good speci- . 

 men." 



We soon had a fire going, and by its light the Indian 

 cut boughs and made a rough camp for me, while he 

 preferred for himself to lie down on some brush with his 

 feet, as usual, towai-d the fire. 



By 9 o'clock the next morning the skinning was com ' 

 pleted, and soon after 12 I was preparing my second skin ' 

 for transportation. Meanwhile Nuel went for the meat, 

 and in the afternoon of the next day all that he wanted 

 of it was at the shanty. He was very talkative now, and 

 told, me how he had secured the animal. So far as I can \ 

 recollect his account and could understand him, it was : 

 this: "You know w'en me lef you, me wen' cross where ; 

 we go firs' night. Walk um straight into wood may be 

 two mile. Look up sharp for track. Happen to look i 

 down close by little clear— you call um — an' dare sartin ; 

 moose track. Den me walk um careful. Me know track ■ 

 berry fresh. See where he bite bush. See where he 

 step in bog. See where he knock snow off tree. Me 

 creep um, creep um, Me stan' um still. Me look um 

 mose sharp. Jus' come to edge of barn, little bush tree in 

 barn, not far away. Win' blowin' from trees to me. 

 Dare moose stan'in' eatin'. Not see me. Not know me 

 dare. Say um prayer. Take good aim. Bang. Moose 

 give great jump. Run berry fa.s'. Me 'fraid me nnt hit 

 him. Go see. Blood all roun'. Berry red on snow, 

 Sartin, me say, me get um. Follow long way, mile, two 

 mUe. Blenty blood. Not run well. Stag' like drunk 

 Ingin. Fall down on knees. Get up, only walk. Me 

 comin' to you, me say. Go careful. Shoot again if hab 

 to. You say not if can help. Berry good. Me ready. 

 Look um, look um. Not see moose head, T'ink strange. 

 Walk um right up. You know where. Fine um like 

 you's, stone dead." 



For five days we remained at our camp. When Nuel 

 was not smoking meat it seemed to me he was eating it. 

 Indeed, I doubted at one time whether he would have 

 much to smoke. 



Had the weather been pleasant we would have broken 

 camp sooner than we did. We had two days of rain after 

 our work was completed, that kept us housed. The morn- 

 ing of the sixth day was pleasant. There had been a 

 great change in the weatlier. It was much cooler than 

 when we came in and a little ice had made around the 

 edge of the lake the morning w^e started. 



The day of our departure took us as far as the camp on 

 the peninsula. Here my back began to trouble me again 

 and I concluded to rest for a day. That long portage and 

 the damp woods had nearly used me up. We had a great 

 deal of cai-rying to do, with moose meat and skins and 

 traps and canoe. Indeed, the canoe was much deeper in 

 the water than when we set out on our expedition. 



I was not sorry, then, when just at sundown we marched 

 into our peninsula camp and Nuel said, "Now, Doc'or, 

 you rest. Me make um fire. Keep tun you warm. Take 

 um care of eberyt'ing." 



Whether it was the Indian's care, or the rest, or the hot 

 tea, or all of them combined, I could not tell, but I only 

 knew that when I woke up next morning I was feeling as 

 fresh as a lark, and concluded to start again for home at 

 once, while the weather was so pleasant. 



This day took us half-way home. The Indian ran one 

 rapid, but not with the precious skins in his canoe. The 

 next day he ran another. "No 'fraid," said he. "Water 

 high. No touch um rock." 



However, I preferred to land my skins again, though 

 no harm came to the canoe. 



We were at Nuel's camp before noon. By night th© 

 two skins were where I could go to work on them. Nuel 

 came to the village with me and secured his blankets and 

 cloth and crowns. As he left me, with his treasures 

 in a bundle strapped on his back, he said, "Doc'or, sposum 

 you ever wan' to go 'nudder time for calleboo, me wan' go 

 wid you." 



I promised him he should, and that I would have no one 

 else — if I could get him. 



But to conclude. The moose were set up. They are 

 said to be a very fine pair. Hundreds have admired them; 

 and we suppose as the race perishes_from the crust himters 

 and a want of protection, they will be a greater curiosity 

 in the world. S. 



The Cyclone at the Sea. Islands. 



Paris Island, S. C, Sept. 13.— The tidal wave which 

 accompanied the cycloae on Aug. 27-28 inundated most 

 of the Sea Islands and nas probably destroyed the greater 

 portion of the birds (quaU), which were very abundant, 

 as well as other game, and probably the deer on the out- 

 lying islands, I have heard, however, of a few small 



