404 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



lNov. 11, 1898. 



THE WEST OF LONG AGO. 



My earliest memories carry me back to a beautiful 

 grass country, rolling away in every direction in huge 

 billows and hills of green. Flowers of a thousand hues 

 bloomed all around, hundreds of varieties and countless 

 numbers of specimens, making bright waves of color in 

 the low draws and around the water lioles. 



Rattlesnakes sprung their warning, if you chanced too 

 near, and coyotes howled, each with voice enough for 

 ten. Occasionally too the weird, soulless hoAvl of that 

 gaunt spectre of the jjlains, the buffalo or loafer wolf, 

 would float across the hills in a ghoulish way that made 

 one's flesh creep. Buffalo still roamed by the thousands 

 only a short distance to the west, a 'id eccentric individ- 

 uals clad in highly fringed and orriatnental buckskins 

 kept the settlement supplied with meat from these herds. 

 Qaeer Arabs these men were, blackened by camp smoke 

 and tanned to a leathery hue by the prairie sun and 

 winds, free-lances who obeyed no dictates but their own 

 will and handled a rifle by instinct. 



The grass land was a pleasant place to dwell, and to 

 me was never monotonous until the plow came, ripped 

 the grass and flowers up by the roots and installed King 

 Corn in their place. In the early days crystal springs 

 gurgled and bubbled throughout the land, birds piped 

 their gladsome notes from every bush, prairie chickens 

 boomed and cooed from the dew-freshened hilltops in 

 the early mornings, and the balmy southern breeze, 

 charged with ozone, came across the millions of acres of 

 wild meadow and made life worth the living. 



Never was it so enjoyable as in the late summer when 

 the thin blue haze hung over the land, softening the out- 

 line of distant hill and valley, and lending a dreamy air 

 to everything. This was Indian summer, when the 

 golden rod and sunflower bent their yellow heads to the 

 sun, and the gold and black liveried" humble-bee droned 

 his buzzing songs among their petals. When the scarlet 

 sumach plumes and milkweed blossoms touched the green 

 with color, and the acres of bluestem grass waved, saddle 

 high, for miles across the hilltops. 



If you have watched the sun go down there and lingered 

 through the long twilight, seen the crimson and gold 

 slowly fade from the fleecy clouds, and watched the night- 

 hawk's silhouette cross^ the aftermath of simdown which 

 lingered in the deep blue dome above, traced the great 

 horned owl's noiseless flight passing by on nocturnal hunt- 

 ing bent, and listened to the voices of evening come over 

 the plain in that softly subdued way M^hich only the 

 grassland can conjure up, then, truly you^have lived and 

 not always existed. 



There was a charm, too, as subtle but different about 

 the mist-hung landscape of early moi-ning when wild life 

 awoke and began to move, the time between the first 

 tinge of dawn and sunrise. Then there were sights and 

 sounds which are unknown to the sluggard who waits for 

 sunrise to wake him. Everything is bright and fresh, a 

 crisp, new smell is in the air, and a soothing, restful feel- 

 ing pervades everything. No rtian can be abroad at this 

 time in any unsettled country without experiencing a sen- 

 sation of dehght, just from the surroundings and their in- 

 fluence on his animal nature, though there be nothing 

 romantic, poetic or artistic in his composition. A feeling 

 of quietude and self-content will steal over him, his camp 

 smoke will have a pleasing odor unknown later in the 

 day, his pipe will taste better and he takes a quiet, restful 

 delight in all he sees. He watches the bath of the birds, 

 the perch on a nearby limb, the pluming and oiling of the 

 feathers, hears the song, of the singer's own composition, 

 as he rises to salute the orb of day. The hum and buzz of 

 insect life so noticeable at noontide is wanting, for only 

 the belated moths are about at early morning, and the 

 rest are a discord in the quiet harmony of day birth. The 

 sun tips the hilltops, long, level beams of hght hunt out 

 the dew-diamonds and lend an opalescent gleam to the 

 glittering array in Nature's jewel box, the fresh smell 

 drifts out of the air and the landscape takes on an even 

 tone as the shadows lose themselves; then a period of.com- 

 parative oppression settles down and leaves you listless, 

 and day has come in earnest. 



Prairie fires were a source of great danger to the early 

 settlers of the plains. After the frost came in the fall 

 and the grass was dry enough to burn, some stray Indian 

 or emigrant camp-fire left smouldering would be farmed 

 into a blaze by the wind and miles of country would be 

 blackened before it would burn out. 



Oftentimes at night a lurid haze in the air and a red 

 reflection in the sky would show where a long front of 

 fire was licking up the bluestem tangle of grass. When 

 the wind would spring up and blow wisps of burning ma- 

 terial far in advance of a fire it would create a draft that 

 sucked all the lighter sparks high in the air, only to drop 

 them far in advance of the main fire and setting new 

 points. 



Then the only resource was to "back-fire" against the 

 hades that swept along like a cyclone of flame and licked 

 up everything in its path. No horse could outrun the 

 flames at such times, and nothing could live a minute 

 once overtaken by the seething, roaring mass which went 

 by like a whirlwind and left only deatli in its wake. 

 Many wild animals were caught at such times, and their 

 shriveled carcasses left to the buzzards, which always 

 hung on the trail and circled through the smoke of a big 

 fire. Sometimes tlie ironwork of a wagon and the black- 

 ened remnants of a team and driver were found, mute 

 witnesses to the fury of the red blast gone by. 



Let a smoky haze steal into the usually clear air and 

 far up above the loathsome sliape of the prairie scaven- 

 ger, the carrion-eating buzzard, would be seen; at first a 

 mere speck, wiiicli soon developed the outhne of a bird 

 poised on stiffened pinions, slowly sailing, with funereal 

 solemnity, toward the path of the fire. Whence came 

 they? Ah, Quien sabe? Well, they knew by some mys- 

 terious instinct that carrion awaited them there, and 

 from their vantage point, thousands of feet above the 

 surface, they dropped with unfailing accuracy, down, 

 down, down, until their hideous bulk rested beside the 

 dead, and they commenced then- loathsome work of des- 

 troying the decaying mass of flesh, nor stopped until it 

 was done. Not alone or in pairs came the creatui-es, but 

 by the score, and soon the ghastly feast was over and 

 they mounted high again in ever widening circles, sailing, 

 sailing, circling upward, never once flapping a pinion 

 after leaving the surface, but floating and cu-cling ever 

 up, up, up, until the eye could no longer see the black 

 blot against the sky. They are an uncanny bird, these 

 black bits of the infernal regions, fit company for the 



sneaking soft-footed coyotes that snarled and fought with 

 them for a share of their awful feast. 



These things we who dwelled in the great gi-assland of 

 early days were perforce familiar with, and they are some 

 of the memories that come to us through the winding 

 haze of tobacco smoke, when the firelight flickers and 

 ghostly shadows flit about, when the katydids and crick- 

 ets chirp in quiet unison, and the phosphorescent glow of 

 the firefly's lamp makes light among the cobwebbed 

 corners of our memories, and we brush the dust from 

 things belonging to by-gone times. 



What charm is there about a quiet smoke with some 

 congenial soul beside a flickering camp-flre that brings 

 these old memories crowding back so vividly that you 

 live over again, in mind, the scenes of long ago? Sim- 

 shine and storm, daylight and darkness, excitement and 

 peace, flash through your mind and quicken your pulse, 

 yet you sit immovably gazing into the fire, seeing naught 

 but former scenes while you stolidly smoke, smoke, 

 smoke! 



The present does not exist and the past is not yet gone, 

 you live again and cannot forget, but must tiiink on and 

 on tmtil something dull, prosaic and commonplace calls 

 you from a land of shadows, back to a world of hard 

 reality! Yet some people say, "it is so lonesome away 

 out in the woods!" Bah! They exist, while he who 

 roughs it and lives a life of freedom in the open air really 

 lives! El Oomakoho. 



THE OLD DAYS AT BARNEGAT. 



The wind is abroad to-night. The casements rattle and 

 the pines toss their great tops angrily as they sway before 

 the blast. The back log sputters, sending a shower of 

 sparks out into the night to be swallowed by the black- 

 ness. 



All objects in the room are outlined by the deep gold of 

 the firelight, and the glass eyes in the elk's head over the 

 mantle gleam and seem to move in a very lifelike manner, 



Lolling back in my comfortable chair and follovsdng the 

 blue wreaths of smoke as they float upward from my 

 pipe and fade away in the shadow, my eyes rest upon an 

 old breachloader of Ene:lish make. 



What fond memories it recalls! 



Over its brown barrels I watched my first wild duck 

 come sailing into its fate. Its sharp voice sang the 

 requiem of my first quail, and the EngHsh snipe has 

 stopped short, just as he had finished his peculiar cork- 

 screw twist and laid his course sti-aightaway. 



That was when Barnegat was undisturbed by railroads; 

 when old Bill Chadwick reigned supreme over the sand 

 dunes on Island Beach and the yellow meadows across the 

 bay. 



How many are there living to-day who can forget the 

 hospitable ranch? Time can never rob me of the memory 

 of it, and in the flickering gleam of the fire to-night mem- 

 ory paints the quaint old house, with its wide verandah 

 from which hang great bunches of curlew, marlin, plover, 

 "yelpers," doewich, robin snipe, and small yellowlegs. 



1 can see the little barroom with its smoke-stained 

 walls, and the jolly crew of gimners busy cleaning guns, 

 loading shells or indulging in "nap." 



There are not many of the old time patrons left to listen 

 to old Bfll's yarns, but their places are fiUed by the de- 

 scendants of those who frequented the place way back in 

 the forties. The old register will show the names of 

 such lovers of the sport as Rem Offley, Jim Lillie, Walter 

 and Henry Fleming, Max Bai-retto, Jim Newton, Elias 

 Drake, Lew Livingston, my father W. A. Day, better 

 known as "The General," and a host of others whose 

 names I cannot recall. Some of those I have named 

 have crossed the silent river. 



From the beach I hear the hoarse voice of the combere 

 as they dash themselves to pieces on the treacherous coast, 

 or perhaps some one holding up a finger, calls attention 

 to the honking of a flock of geese flying over through the 

 night; what a weird sound it is. 



But it will be an early hour when we rise in the morn- 

 ing to go out to the blind, so we turn into one of Bill's 

 cornhusk beds, and settling down between the nubbins 

 sleep as soundly as though it were a bed of down. 



To me there is always something uncanny about rising 

 before daybreak, and those who do seem to have a sort 

 of respect for the hour. Everyone converses in a hushed 

 tone of voice, there is no laughter and the gunners move 

 about noiselessly in their rubber waders. After a hurried 

 cup of coffee we would all start for the blind that had 

 fallen to our lot in drawing for position the night before. 



Father and I occupied the "outer stand" one morning 

 about half a. mile from the house. The decoys are placed, 

 everything is in readiness, then comes the morning pipe. 

 Oh, that i)ipe! The best smoke of the day. The genii of 

 the bowl, obedient to our call, added a zest to and 

 mingled its flavor with that of our coffee, and kept the 

 fierce Jersey mosquito at bay. No cigar from Havana s 

 sleepy isle ever possessed such sweetness or gave more 

 enjoyment to the smoker. 



Gradually the cold light of morning would outline the 

 meadows, and then the birds would commence flying. 

 Father's keen eye never failed to "mark" them when the 

 first bunch would appear hke a minute cloud in the dis- 

 tant horizon. Here they come, in answer to his whistle, 

 nearer and nearer, and we crouch, almost breathless, as 

 they sweep in toward us and make a half circle, head 

 up to the wind, and swoop down to the decoys. Now! 

 And up we rise. Bang! Bang! Some drop and the 

 call of the wounded bring the flock back again. We 

 give them four more baiTels, and few are left to resume 

 their flight. But we are not the only ones, for over the 

 russet and golden meadows the faint pop! pop! tells us 

 the other blinds are doing good work, and nov\^ and then 

 a shower of No. 10 settles down around our heads. 



And so they keep coming until long after the sun has 

 taken possession of the sky. Then we gatlier up our birds 

 as the welcome sound of the horn summons us to break- 

 fast. 



Such a breakfast! Heaps of broiled birds, cooked to a 

 turn; coffee, rich and brown; home-made biscuit, real 

 butter, and oh, crowning glory, buckwheat cakes and 

 New Orleans molasses. LucuUus never spread a feast that 

 was more appreciated. 



In the afternoon, with a good, stout bass rod, and a 

 few menhaden for bait, one could seldom miss taking a 

 few bluefish from off' the pier built out over- the surf on 

 the ocean front, aiid I remember seeing the "General" 

 and Jim Lillie, both weighing about 220 odd, chase 

 through the heavy sand following a school of large blues ' 



that came along within striking distance of the shore, and 

 as the menhaden were driven in by their voracious foe, 

 the two anglers would pick them up, hook them on as 

 you would a minnow, make a long cast, and ere the sing- 

 ing of the reel had died out upon the air, strike a fish. 

 They were not srnall ones, either, but eight and nine 

 pounders. 



But since the advent of the railroad Barnegat has 

 changed so much that I have no desire to visit there 

 again. The memoiy of those halcyon days still clings to 

 me, and will, I trust, as long as I live, to dream of them 

 beside my fire on winter evenings. Like the old chap in 

 Charles Dickens's "Haunted Man," I say, "God keep my 

 memory green." ' The General. 



CRAFT FOR THE WILDERNESS. 



Whether the barge, the punt or the big canoe stands 

 next in my affections I scarcely know. The latter we 

 usually keep on a larger lake not far away, but the road 

 to which is difficult. To carry a load over it is most de- 

 cidedly difiicult. Experientia docuit. From our landing 

 place there we can make exciu-sions in several directions. 

 Our last one of last season was one of the pleasantest I 

 have ever taken, albeit it was only for a single day. It is 

 difficult to give a reader any idea of the pleasures of such 

 excursions. It is easy enough to tell of Incidents, but to 

 bring before another person the thousands of momentary, 

 fleeting, rapidly succeeding delights of an enjoyable day 

 is not easy. Still, sometimes when I call such days to 

 mind the cacoethes so'tbendi gels hold of me. 



This time, besides the two boatmen, we were just that 

 partie carree which I have said best suits the canoe, my 

 invalid sister and myself with two others owning similar 

 relationships. It was a morning in early September. 

 The thinnest possible haae was in the atmosphere, there 

 was no wind and the weather was neither cold nor hot. 

 For an hour we were paddled up the lake under a granite 

 precipice that towered 300ft, above our heads. The re- 

 flections were perfect, more brilliant appearing than if 

 the sun had been bright. Every seam in thw rock, every 

 tree, twig and leaf was faithfully reproduced, exact in 

 form and color. Once we stopped a few mmutes to gum 

 a leaky seam. The stop was not an annoyance, but only 

 one more item of interest. 



Soon we turned off to our right, passing through a 

 narrow, weedy channel into another lake, but one 

 hardly worthy the name. It is not a nice lake at all, for 

 the lumbermen have made it overflow its banks, and old 

 stumps and weird, spectral-looking dead trees line its 

 shores. It is small and quickly passed. Then we go up 

 its inlet, crooked and shallow, with frequent rapids. Our 

 bowman, not fit for the place but hard to oust, lets us 

 strike a rock, knocking a big hole in the canoe. We haul 

 ashore, where aU except the invalid disembark and 

 scramble through thick bushes, treetops and fallen tim- 

 ber in search of an available place for repairing damages. 

 We find one shortly at an old logging camp, but on the 

 opposite side of the stream, Two of Us make a "chair" 

 and carry the lady across without dropping her, a feat 1 

 have seen attempted with a different result. And so we 

 all came- safe to land. 



But, oh, my! the raspberries! I never saw them so 

 large or so plenty. While our boat was being repaired we 

 ate all we could hold, and my sister lined her hat with 

 leaves and filled that also, thereby showing her enthusi- 

 asm, but not improving the hat in the least degree. "On 

 the contrary, quite the reverse." Raspberry bushes spring 

 up wherever the land is partially burned over or cleared; 

 but why the berries should be so huge and in such profu- 

 sion in this particular spot I cannot say. I usually find 

 them rather small. I wonder the bears had not found 

 these before us; but we saw no signs of them, and I have 

 no doubt also but we were the first human beings to pick 

 a single berry out of all this accumula ted growth of thirty 

 years. Nobody has occasion to pass that way in summer. 

 Log drivers lodge in the old camp a night or two in tlie 

 spring and then leave it to its solitude. Even I, when 

 bound for the same point we were seeking this time, had 

 gone by the winter portage road a hundred or two yards 

 off. There is no summer road, and the nearest houses are 

 miles away. 



A bit of rag and a little gum soon put the canoe to 

 rights, and having portaged it over a logger's dam close 

 by we launched it on another lake that wap a beauty. I 

 will not undertake to say anything about it. Half an 

 hour's paddling took us to its inlet, where we made our 

 tea and took our luncheon in one of the loveliest spots 

 imaginable. Rocks, trees, rapids, little cascades and 

 everything combined to make it altogether delightful. I 

 found the place two years ago and said then that I would 

 some day bring a party to it. We had to cross the stream 

 to get to our dining place. We men with our high boots 

 didn't mind wading in the least, so we made a chair again 

 and carried my sister over; but the other lady disdained 

 that mode of conveyance, took off her boots and stock- 

 ings, and waded liko the rest of us. It was a part of her 

 lark and she enjoyed it immensely. 



Without disitai-aging any one else I will say — since she 

 is not likely to read these lines — that this lady was the 

 best "all round" member of a camping party that we ever 

 had at the lake. Some may have been superior to her in 

 particular points, but none in the entire combination. 

 Never tired, always ready to go or willing to stay, able 

 to cHmb over rocks or through thickets, with any of us, 

 never out of humor, but always prompt to join in what 

 the majority decided on, she was a model and a treasure 

 in the woods. Women, even the best and most charming 

 of them, have not invariably that balance of qualifications 

 that makes the first-class camper-out. 



After luncheon my sister embarked again and our men 

 partly dragged and partly carried the canoe, often lifting 

 it and its load bodily out of the water over some 400 or 

 500yds. of pretty rough navigation for a bark canoe. The 

 watercourse was a mixture of sharp little rapids, boulders 

 of all shapes and sizes and very deep pools. A number of 

 the latter the men discovered quite unintentionally. 



The rest of us crawled along the shore to the head of 

 the rough water, ^vhe^e wc all embarked. In a few 

 minutes we came to a widening of the stream where the 

 water was some 2 or 3 ft. deep, looking black as ink and 

 growing fuU of tiiat jointed, reed-like rush, called here 

 proUe (1 do not know its Enghsh name), interspersed with 

 tliuusands upon thousands of our common New England 

 wliite pond lilies. The effect was wonderfully beautiful, 

 tiie whole surface being starred with these lovely flowers,, 

 scattered on the black water among the green, spear-like 



