26 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Jan. 13, 1894, 



cranberry bogs. I trust I have been forgiven for my in- 

 discreet haste, but the memory of it still lingereth. 



Again Moore and I had the evening flight shooting to 

 ourselves, and to say truth there was not much of it. 

 It is the privilege of sportsmen to behold Nature in her 

 various moods; and I would not have missed that evening 

 on the lake for more money than I have made any day 

 this year. Thick clouds had risen suddenly and com- 

 pletely filled the sky. The air was still. The silence was 

 so intense that you could almost hear it. Every report of 

 Moore's gun was followed by the shrill shriek of the shot 

 and the irregular, spattering sound as they dropped on the 

 surface of the lake. Then it would echo, and reecho, and 

 "re-o-echo," as I once heard a buddiig oiator say, till it 

 gave one the impression of a range of 'Mountains tumbling 

 down about his ears. The eastern ridge first caught the 

 sound and flung it to Flat-top Mountain in the west, which 

 passed it over to Blaney Ridge on th'e south, and it ended 

 in one long, wild roar down the valley of tbeMagaguada- 

 vic. Each discharge warned every duck within ten miles 

 that there was trouble in the Mud Lake district; and thev 

 were not slow to profit by the hint. 



Sunday was a still, cloudy day. It looked as if it might 

 rain at any moment but it did not. We spent it loitering 

 around camp, the lake shore, the beech bridge, and the 

 cranberry bogs. Two of the women took a boat and went 

 out for a paddle on the little lake. After they came in, 

 another lady and her husband went out on Mud Lake. 

 This was the indirect cause of a little accident that is 

 better related impersonally. The feminine member of the 

 expedition was the head of the cookery department, and 

 her arrival in camp was somewhat later than the usual 

 hour for commencing' preparations for supper. We had 

 •only flour enough for a single batch of bread. Instead of 

 graduating the water to the quantity of flour, she, in the 

 excitement of the moment, reversed then process, and 

 * 'drowned, the miller," as the saying goes. Then there 

 was woe a'nd lamentation. We had some "store biscuit" 

 but these were needed for a lunch on the road the next 

 day. We memorialized the cook to prepare it for the 

 table as best she could, and we would attend to the rest. 

 We assured her that we .only needed nourishment: the 

 form did not so much matter. At length she complied 

 with our request, and placed before us a cross between a 

 very thick "slap-jack," and a mighty heavy "short-cake." 

 The Prevaricator called it a "dough-godger." When it 

 was turned out on the table, each man hastened to do it 

 honor. To break it was impossible. So four of us each 

 grasped a side and pulled. It stretched to the form of a 

 Maltese cross, and the women who did not make it laughed 

 till the tears came. Tben it gave away with a rebound as 

 of India rubber. With the exception of one, who gene- 

 rously shared his piece with another who had none, each 

 wrestled manfully with, and finally vanquished the part 

 that fell to his share. 



Our last night in camp differed very little from the rest, 

 except that we remained out of bed .slightly later, and the 

 deck of cards rested in their case. There was apparently 

 no touch of that shade of sadness which usually fore-runs 

 the breaking of camp. Everyone seemed in good spirits. 



Monday morning was still and very cloudy. The work 

 of striking tents, packing and getting breakfast went on 

 simultaneously. By the time it was fairly light we were 

 ready to move. Though all w-ere sorry the end had come 

 you could see no evidence of it in any countenance. For 

 we were not as people without hope. And then there 

 was a necessity for immediate and energetic action, and 

 work is a sovereign remedy for useless regrets and vain 

 repinings. David, Judson and I packed the dunnage 

 down to the outlet, thus shortening the ferry one-half. 

 The women spent the time carving the initials of the 

 party on a tree. 



About sunrise the canopy of cloud that had hung over 

 us for the last forty hours began to lift in the west, and 

 this promise of a lovely day was fulfilled to the letter. 

 About the same time Moore and David pulled out with 

 the horse. A week's vacation had put the brown on her 

 mettle, and she objected in true Western fashion to allow- 

 ing David a seat on her back. The difficulty was partially 

 adjusted, when they passed out of sight. Then we heard 

 a wild thrashing in the brush, coupled with an exhorta- 

 tion liberally adorned with quotations from standard lit- 

 erature; and we knew the mare had been temporarily 

 victorious. David afterward acknowledged that she 

 bucked him off in fair fight. 



To Judson and me was assigned the duty of escorting 

 the women down to the outlet. We were standing around 

 the camp-ground just before forming our little proces- 

 sion. We heard a dog give tongne out on the burnt land, 

 and then a grouse sailed in over the sprouts and alighted 

 in a hemlock overhead. One thought of how useful he 

 would be about noon, and then I walked to the rack and 

 picked up a gun. A second later and a headless bird lay 

 on the ground, "A shame," you say? That was the 

 unanimous verdict of the women. And I set down 

 naught in extenuation. I probably would have done it 

 even had we not been short of provisions. 



A walk of two and a half miles through woods, a slight 

 delay in helping the team over Black Brook, and we were 

 on the ridge overlooking the place that for a week had 

 been our home. Had we been less strong in the hope 

 that we would seethe place again, we would not have 

 bidden it good-bye so cheerfully. It had afforded us slim 

 opportunities for slaughter, still, we got enough game to 

 supply the camp. Including the snipe, we got consider- 

 ably less than a hundred head in all. But whatever was 

 lacking in quantity was made up to us in variety. Our 

 list of ducks included the black mallard, or dusky duck, 

 the gad wall, bluebill, broadbill, wood or summer duck, 

 shelldrake and mudhen. In snipe, we had Wilson's and 

 the summer yellowleg, while our grouse embraced the 

 ruffed and the Canada. We had many valuable speci- 

 mens for the taxidermist, the rarest of which was a wood- 

 .drake or male summer duck in perfect plumage. 

 , The bracing air appeared to have an invigorating effect 

 on the people, horses and dogs. Scott Act pitched into 

 every dog that showed himself on the road; and none 

 waited for either revengp or second nip. Perhaps they 

 were not so cowardly as their actions indicated. They 

 probably reasoned, that if the other dogs were so blood- 

 thirsty as the pup, they would as lief take their chances 

 with a pack of hungry wolves. 



, We took a slightly different road from the one we came, 

 and it led past the scene of a famous tragedy of twenty 

 years ago— "the place where Teague was shot." The 

 trouble that ended in the death of Teague was caused 

 chiefly by bad rum; and the end was more in keeping 



with the eternal fitness of things than is usually the case, 

 for it was the rumseller that was killed. He was shot by 

 Charles Davis, a blacksmith, while trying to force an en- 

 trance into his shop. Davis himself made the pistol with 

 which the deed was done. He has served out his fourteen 

 year sentence, and disappeared. 



At Lake George, about two miles from this spot, over 

 fifty years before this, there had occurred another murder, 

 of peculiar interest to the sportsman as well as to the his- 

 torian. It marks one of the very few instances in the 

 history of the Province when a collision between the red 

 and the white man ended in bloodshed. John McGeorge, 

 the first settler at Lake George, shot a caribou. This the 

 Indians held to be an infringement of their rights, and one 

 of them shot McGeorge. The enraged settlers set out to 

 hunt down the murderer, but instead got on the trail of 

 his companion, who was captured after a two-days' chase, 

 during which time he had not a bite to eat. If I remem- 

 ber aright, the unfortunate Indian suffered death, and the 

 man who fired the shot never was taken. 



We made our noon camp in a wood not far from the 

 residence of Mr. Alexander Rosborough. David putting 

 on the brogue of a near friend of the Rosborough's, gave 

 us a list of the names of the family. "There is Ritchie 

 and John Ritchie, and Ritchie P., and Henry, and curly- 

 headed John (these are the back field ones, d' ye mind), 

 and there's Aleck, and Thomas Samuel, that lives ferbye 

 Skipton's, on the main river." . We always mention the 

 place of this halt as our camp "ferbye Aleck's." 



While we were here something happened that served to 

 illustrate the truth of the saying that "it takes all kinds 

 to make a world." A horseman passed by on a "pale 

 horse." He was elegantly dressed. The "shine" or gloss 

 on his stand-up collar was just lovely. His waxed mus- 

 tache had about the right turn, his soft felt hat about the 

 correct crease. His saddle and bridle were the best of 

 their kind, as was also a field glass case that was strapped 

 about him. But his horse looked as if his appearance 

 might be improved byamore generous ration, and he was 

 decorated with certain dun-colored maps of the great 

 continents, those of Africa and South America on either 

 quarter, and the others, with sundry islands, scattered 

 over his body. The sight was enough to inspire any one 

 with the instincts of a horseman with a desire for a short 

 private interview with the animal, to the accompaniment 

 of a currycomb and brush. The rider looked neither to 

 the right nor to the left. It is anybody's privilege to 

 salute another on a country road , and Moore gave this 

 man a cheery good-day that ought to have brought a re- 

 sponse from a wooden man; but he honored it with 

 neither word, look nor gesture. "Ah!" said David as the 

 horseman disappeared over the hill, "there's nothing in 

 that fellow but — " and his eyes had in them a far-away 

 look that indicated mental abstraction, as the reason for 

 the unfinished sentence. 



Here Judson left us. During the short time he was 

 with its he had shown the mettle of a sportsman and we 

 hoped to meet him again. On our way to the St. John 

 River David picked up one grouse. At Bear Island we 

 waited some time for the ferry-scow that took us over a 

 week before, but it was propelled by another man whose 

 way of getting around easily accounted for 'the delay. 

 Here David collected the mail for his neighborhood, thus 

 getting it a day in advance of the regular service. But 

 he did not do this work impartially. One missive for 

 John Touch he did not bring and two that he did get he 

 failed to hand over to the postmaster. The name on the 

 letter was not John; in fact, I think she would be ex- 

 ceedingly angry if you called her John. But I believe 

 she got the letters sooner than if they had been left at 

 the post-office. 



On our way out we had a whirl at a grouse which af- 

 forded us quite an amount of fun, and did not hurt the 

 bird. If W. H. had not mistaken the end of the top lever 

 for the safety of his gun, he might have called him down, 

 for, he was offered one of the prettiest shots I ever 

 saw. * 



And now the time for breaking up our little party was 

 approaching. The flow of talk and good-natured chaff 

 which had scarcely failed since we set out, ceased of a 

 sudden. Every mind seemed abstracted — preoccupied. 

 Now and then some one would break out in a little frag- 

 ment of song, and those of the rest who knew it would 

 join in, all singing in a subdued voice. After a while 

 some one hummed a bar of an old hymn that has stood 

 the constant wear of. a quarter of a century, and which 

 will probably survive the present generation: "The Sweet 

 Bye and Bye." The chorus breathed the wish of the entire 

 party. Instantly it swelled loud and clear. And though 

 there be those who would take exception to the applica- 

 tion of the term "beautiful shores" to those of our little 

 lakes, we all hope to meet there again in the "Sweet bye 

 and bye." L. I. Flower. 



Put a Note in Your Local Paper. 



Danvers, Mass., Dec. 81. — The open season on game 

 birds of Massachusetts expires to-day. Game has been 

 scarce all the season, consequently hunting has been lim- 

 ited. Many quail were winter killed last year. The 

 ground has been covered with crusted snow, trees and 

 bushes full of ice for the last four weeks, so it has been 

 unfit to do any hunting. I think much game has been 

 spared. I never knew of a month of December more 

 favorable for the preservation of game birds than the 

 past. Let every true sportsman notify his local paper for 

 publication that it is now illegal to kill any game birds 

 and that there is a heavy fine for so doing, and that the 

 complainant will be rewarded by a conviction in sharing 

 the fine. I always make it a rule to keep our village 

 paper posted and it has a tendency for good. J. W. B. 



Sandow, the strongman, is the owner of a Great Dane that 

 is Siiid to be very intelligent, like most of these doys. Sandow 

 is now performing in New York, and among feats of strength 

 is an act in which he sustains on a stage, a grand piano and 

 a whole Hungarian orchestra. This tbe dog does not. like at 

 all, being afraid that his master will get hurt. One day 

 recently the platform on which tbe piano was placed got wet 

 by accident and became slightly warped. When it was 

 placed on Sandow's chest, that night and the piano was lifted 

 to it several loud cracks were heard The dog had been 

 watching the performance as usual from the wing, but when 

 he heard those cracks he begau to howl dismally, and it 

 required the united efforts of several stage hands to keep him 

 from dashing on the 'stage. When the curtain finally 

 dropped on the act the dog rushed a,t Sandow and rising on 

 his hind legs, licked his master's face and jumped about him 

 in an ecstaey of joy. Now they have to keep the dog locked 

 in> dressing room until Sandow has finished bis performance. 



CHANGES IN THE EAST. 



As Seen by Western Eyes. 



The people in the East can scarcely realize how their 

 country is changing. No one except one who at long in- 

 tervals revisits the scenes of his childhood and wanders 

 through the woods and along the streams he loved when 

 a boy. 



The amount of timber is in many places much greater 

 than it was forty years ago. I found last year that old 

 fields in New Jersey where I used to clip the whistling 

 wings of the dove as he rose from the blue sheets of 

 bugloss were grown over with timber of very respectable 

 size. What used to be mere brush or second growth sap- 

 lings now begins to look like virgin forest. Yet you may 

 stroll through it day after day without hearing the leaves 

 jar beneath the spring of a gray squirrel or find any 

 crumbs that have fallen from his lofty table. The 

 bugloss still shows in the adjoining field, yet you may 

 walk half a day without seeing the arrowy line of bluish 

 gray that marks the course of the dove, and still longer 

 may you wait before across the yellow harvest field you 

 hear the soft, sweet call of Bob White. 



One could hardly expect to see the ruffed grouse rise 

 roaring from every laurel glen or hear as of yore the 

 woodcock's twittering wing in every bit of swamp. But 

 surely one has a right to look for the striped sides of the 

 chipmonk along the old stone fence, or the flash of the 

 red squirrel's coat amid the darksome grove of hemlocks. 



Here and there at long intervals the mottled breast of 

 the wood thrush lit up the somber shades, and his pure 

 silvery notes made a welcome contrast to the rattle of the 

 buckbnard of the modern country Jake in the highway 

 near by. But where was the lustrous dark blue and 

 crimson of the redstart that used to shine in every bit of 

 wood, and the bright scarlet of the tanager that used so to 

 fire my young love of the woods and all their inhabitants? 



The great glory of the maple is as bright as ever, and 

 the broad head of the beech looks as if time had made no 

 impression upon it. But I looked almost in vain for the 

 rich livery of the oriole that used to make them so cheer- 

 ful, and from the broad hickory that still atood out in the 

 old field the brown thrasher poured no more the sweet 

 volume of bis evening song. Where the axe had spared 

 the chestnut and walnut they looked as bright as ever and 

 the ash and the bass wood seemed in the heyday of exist- 

 ence. But the red and white of the woodpecker flashed 

 no more amid the green and mute was the voice of the 

 cuckoo that used to make the woods of late summer seem 

 so mournful. The gum tree smiled still in brightest green 

 and in early fall turned into as rosy flame as ever, long 

 before most of the other trees knew that the summer was 

 over, but in vain looked for the gold of the highholder 

 that used to come for the bluish berries; and even the 

 robin that used to keep him company at his morning and 

 evening meal, though the most abundant of the birds yet 

 left, was none too plenty here. Down in the tangled 

 ' shrubbery the mellow voice and varied song of the chat 

 is heard no more and a glimpse of his golden breast, 

 always hard to get, seems now impossible. 



The butterfly weed still flames m the meadows beside 

 the blue of its cousin the milkweed, but where is the bob- 

 olink that hovered over it while his little soul bubbled so 

 sweetly forth, and where that silvery ripple of song that 

 used to fall from where the upland plover was winging 

 his way across the summer sky? The golden breast of 

 the meadowlark, once so common, shines rarely now 

 amid tbe elder's bloom, the thistle sheds its down as 

 silky and abundant as ever, but the cheerful chirrup of 

 the yellowbird is rarely heard above it as he rises and 

 falls in wavy flight, and along the ledge you may watch 

 for hours before you hear the catbird tune his pipe or the 

 wren come out to speak his little piece. In the open 

 ground the bluebird yet warbles and around many places 

 the robin is still abundant. But this is probably on ac- 

 count of protection, for when you go to the thicket you 

 may range for miles without hearing the friendly greeting 

 of the chewink or seeing his ruddy breast along the ground 

 as he scratches up the leaves. And beneath the giant 

 elm where you spent so many pleasant hours in boyhood 

 you may now sit half a day without seeing the little 

 creeper or nuthatch stealing along the limbs and looking 

 under the leaves ^f or slugs, for from the end of some dead 

 limb will you often see the little peewee flutter out and 

 catch his fly and come back to tell you his little plaintive 

 tale before he starts for another. 



The cause? 



Breechloaders, boys and bonnets. The English sparrow 

 seems to have little or nothing to do with it. The dis- 

 position of the wite man to get away with all that is fair 

 in nature as soon as possible is enough to account for it 

 when it is aided by a cheap breechloader with cheap and 

 good store ammunition, what wonder the country girl 

 knows the indigo bird or the oriole only from her bonnet 

 when every lout that can "rustle" five dollars together 

 can now get a gun and ammunition that will shoot better 

 than most of the guns of forty years ago as we knew how 

 to load them? 



It was to be expected that game would become scarce. 

 But who ever expected to hear woodcock talked of about 

 as we talk of grizzly bears in the mountains of California? 

 In Farmer Scrump's woods a cock was seen last month. 

 Major Swipes saw borings of one last week five miles 

 west of town. Colonel Buckstapper is alleged to have 

 shot at one yesterday some ten miles east. And General 

 Snagby is said to have a couple staked out somewhere in 

 the big swamp at Huckleberry Run waiting for him to 

 get time to take them in. At 3:35 (dawn) of the opening 

 day a score of high bred pups with pedigrees as long as 

 the facps of their masters pointed each other on the spot in 

 old Billick's swamp where somebody had seen some bor 

 iogs the week before. 



The brooks seem to have changed as much as any part 

 of the land. Many of them now go dry about the time the 

 ground is in good walking condition after a rain. Some 

 that we used to have boats in and swim comfortably in 

 for many a rod are now foaming toirents during a storm 

 and nasty littly slimy sewers a few days after. Along 

 their dirty shores the little teeter snipe trots no more. 

 The kingfisher has left, perhaps because the water is not 

 deep enough for him to dive with safety. No more by 

 day do you see the green heron or the bittern standing 

 pensive and well fed along the bars, or at night the snowy 

 plumes of the night heron droop over his long neck as he 

 settles down upon the shore for his evening meal. Upon 

 the ripples the sucker no longer suns himself and the old 

 time deep hole where the sunfish used to He is deep on 



