486 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[June 9, 1894. 



ABENAKI GABE. 



Fredericton, the capital of New Brunswick, is about 

 eighty miles distant by water from the city of St. John, 

 and has long been known as a central point for amateur 

 hunters and fishermen. The St. John River is here about 

 half a mile wide. Directly opposite the town stands a lit- 

 tle group of huts in which reside the last of the Abenakis, 

 that once powerful race of savages, who were so formi- 

 dable to the English about the latter part of the seven- 

 t :enth century that their name was a terror to Boston. In 

 f ict De Villebon, then Governor of Acadia, had commu- 

 nicated to the Court of France a project for the capture 

 of that city by means of the Abenakis, who were to be 

 aided by a small detachment of French troops. 



One of the descendants of these dusky warriors was to 

 carry me in his bark canoe from Fredericton to the mouth 

 of the Nashwaasis on the east side of the St. John, about 

 two miles above Fredericton, where we were to dine in 

 the open air on the grassy sward, in our old accustomed 

 way, for we had been friends for years. He was, by 

 agreement, to bring the cooking utensils and I the food. 



Promptly at 9 A. M. of May 21 my Abenaki friend was 

 at the wharf in his canoe, in which I placed the pro- 

 visions I had purchased, consisting of a pound of very fat 

 s.ilt pork, of which the Indians are very fond, a dozen 

 eggs, two ounces of tea and a pound of family pilot 

 bread. Gabe had his frying pan, small tin kettle, two 

 tin dippers, a table-knife and fork and a large hunting- 

 knife with which to slice the fat pork for frying. 



My companion's full name was Gabriel Atwin; the soft 

 language of the Abenakis, finding the "q" of Aquin too 

 harsh, had replaced that letter by "t." The name was be- 

 stowed on Gabe's ancestor by one of those French Jesuits 

 who labored so long and so hard to convert the Abenakis 

 to Christianity. Little did the noble Count Aquino, or his 

 nijst illustrious son Saint Thomas, think that their hon- 

 ored name would be borne 600 years after their decease 

 by the inhabitants of a then unknown land. 



Gabe, my pilot, cook and friend, must be 71 years of 

 age. He is a well built intelligent looking Abenaki of 

 medium height, his jet black hair is turning gray and his 

 once active motions are becoming more deliberate with 

 alvancing age. At the time of the Fisheries Exhibition 

 ia London, he was sent there by the Government of 

 Canada; and as he was well known to a number of the 

 officers of the English Army, having often hunted with 

 taem when they were stationed in America, great atten 

 t.on was paid to him. He told me that although he liked 

 tuese gentlemen very much, as they were very kind to 

 him, he did not like England. On asking him his reason 

 hi said, '"There is no liberty there, if a fellow wants to 

 go fishing or shooting they won't let him." The magni- 

 tude of London astonished him, and writing to a friend 

 ii New Brunswick he said: "Dear Bob, if you haint seen 

 London, you haint seen nothin'." He told me also that 

 the English were great thieves; he said that he could not 

 Lave a pipe, or a box, or anything outside of his wigwam 

 (which was placed in one of the London parks), but it was 

 stolen at once. 



Gabe is not much given to talk, but when he does is 

 often witty as well as instructive. Although a Christian, 

 he yet places a certain amount of belief in the legends 

 which have come down to him from the days of his pagan 

 aacestors. One day when we were together in a canoe 

 he said to me, "There must be something in 'Glooseap's' 

 story, for I have seen his pack which he left on the shore 

 not far from St. John; it is all turned to stone; and there 

 is the hole that the mink made in it. And then I have 

 seen in the rock at Machias the entrails of the moose that 

 'Glooscap' killed; they are of white rock and all twisted." 



Once in a while he talks about the old Indians and their 

 manners and customs. One lovely June day we were 

 paddling^a canoe near what he calls "Augh-pa-hack," the 

 head of tide, six miles above Fredericton, and were pass- 

 ing cloBe to a beautiful and fertile island, when Gabe said 

 to me, "When I was a little boy I used to come here with 

 my mother to get Indian potatoes. She dug them with a 

 hoe and I followed her and picked them up. This was 

 what our people used before the whites brought us the 

 real potatoes." Being desirous of knowing what this root 

 was of which these people had formerly made use, I asked 

 him to find me one. Pushing the canoe to the shore of 

 the island, he went up to a clump of alders and followed 

 down the stalk of a climbing plant which had mounted to 

 the top of these bushes, and when he came to the root 

 drew it out of the soft, rich ground with his fingers, hold- 

 ing it up to me. The root was long and seemed formed of 

 a series of small bulbs connected together like a string of 

 beads. On examining the plant, 1 found that it either 

 was or resembled the wild convolvulus. "We used to dry 

 these, and they were our chief vegetable food," Baid Gabe. 

 "I can remember also that my mother had a big stone 

 mortar in which she used to pound or grind up the Iudian 

 corn which we used. This island (Hart's) was once a 

 great place for the Indians. Here they played ball and 

 ran races. 1 have seen their race course; it was marked 

 deep in the sod, beaten down by their feet, and went all 

 around the island. We had our church over there on the 

 mainland, but it was burned by the English many years 

 before I was born, so our fathers said." 



Returning from this digression to our trip, the St. John 

 River was very high; all the islands and all the low lands 

 were flooded, and great elms and maples were seen stand- 

 ing as it were m one great sea. Toward these we directed 

 our course, and paddlmg between and among them, came 

 to a fringe of shrubs which bordered the shore of the 

 Nashwaasis, through whose tops our canoe made its wav 

 until our progress was stayed by the upper pole of a sub- 

 merged cedar fence. This, ho wevur, Gabe soon pushed to 

 one side with his paddle and ran the bow of his craft up 

 on the shore of the green sward, to allow of my stepping 

 out and oi his removing the provisions and cooking uten- 

 sils to the place where we were to dine He. soon gathered 

 up some chips made a fire and proceeded to frvsome pork 

 and eggs and prepare tea for our dinner. While thus 

 engaged we had a discussion over Abenaki words "I 

 cannot understand Indian words as they are printed on 

 the map » said he. "You call the river ten miles below 

 Fredericton Oromocto. We have no r in our language! 

 The name of this river 18 Wee-la-mooc-took-deep river 

 Cains River, which runs into the southwest Miramichi 

 is called Mich-ma we-we'-la-mooc-took, or in English' 



Micmac's Oromocto. Then you call a branch of the Nash- 

 waak Cleuristic; that is not the name of this stream; it 

 is Kul-loo-sis-sec; it was called so because there was a 

 great eagle's nest on a, high rock near the mouth of this 

 stream. Kulloo, the eagle, was very big. The name of 

 the brook means Kul-loo's nest." 



While the meat was frying in the pan a huge heron 

 slowly rose from the shore. "There is Kos-que," said he, 

 "the old Indians were very fond of these birds, which 

 make a great lot of nests, many families building near 

 one another. About the 26th of July, when the young were 

 big and fat, the old Indians would go to these places where 

 the ne3ts were and take the young ones out and kill them; 

 and after they had tried out all the fat, which was saved 

 to be used again, they smoked the bodies and so kept 

 them from spoiling." 



Our meal being ready, Gabe took a sheepskin with the 

 wool on out of his canoe, where he had placed it in the 

 bottom for me to sit on (and a capital thing it is for such 

 purpose), and with it and a block of wood extemporized 

 a chair. "I forgot the plates," said he, "but here is a 

 piece of shingle." This answered the purpose just as well 

 and we were soon engaged in discussing a rude meal, 

 which was eaten with more zest than would have been 

 one of a city chef's most artistic production. 



Edward Jack. 



Fredericton, May 22. 



STORIES OF EZRA.— I. 



In the autumn of 1873 I came to Redfield, Iowa, and 

 being pleased with the village and its surroundings, made 

 it my home for four years. One very 6nowy morning 

 in the first December I went into the harness shop to 

 get some leather scraps to cut into gun wads. After 

 some talk with the harness maker about shooting he 

 turned to a tall, delicate-looking young man who was 

 busy at stitching a trace, and said: "Ezra, would you like 

 to go a-huntin'," Ezra 'lowed he would. "Well," said 

 the boss, "I reckon ye might as well go, an' ye better 

 hitch the team to the sled 'n' then maybe you can get 

 some chickens." On this trip began my acquaintance 

 with E R, Ford — Ez. or Ezra, as everybody called him — 

 and he proved to be such a delightful shooting and fishing 

 companion that 1 seldom went without asking Ezra to go. 



The Screech Owl. 



In the last week of the following May Ezra said, "Let's 

 go and get some of them young fox s.quirrels down in the 

 bottom timber." 



And we went. The squirrel shooting was fairly good, 

 and after getting eight we sat down to talk. A screech 

 owl came out of a hollow tree and sat on a limb a few feet 

 away. 



"That screech owl," said Ezra, "makes me think of 

 something that happened when I was a little boy and we 

 lived in Hoosier. One day the old gentleman gave me 

 and Ike [his brother] an unmerciful whipping. For a 

 wonder we had done nothing to merit such punishment 

 this time, and w T e were so cut up, in our minds as well as 

 on our backs, that we vowed to get even with the old 

 man. Right back of our house was a big piece of woods 

 that we had never ventured into, believing it was filled 

 with all sorts of mysterious creatures, and that it ex- 

 tended clear to the other edge of the world. Ike said we 

 would go into the woods so far that the old man could 

 never find us, and we'd stay there till he grieved himself 

 to death about us; and then we could come back and not 

 be licked any more. 



"We hadn'tgone far into the woods before the deep shade 

 and deeper stillness got us to feeling mighty queer. After 

 we had gone about a quarter of a mile we stopped, too 

 afraid to go any further, and both of us too afraid to 

 speak. We stood there about a minute when we heard a 

 sort of snapping or clicking noise, and when we looked 

 around we saw five screech owls, the first we had ever 

 seen, young ones I suppose they were, all sitting in a row 

 on a limb, within six feet of our heads. One at a time 

 they opened their big mouths and shut them with a snap; 

 and one of them let out a long, quivering, tremulous 

 screech that sent cold chills of terror all over us, and 

 their big eyes seemed to look right through us. We were 

 so paralyzed by fright that we couldn't move. Maybe 

 we'd have been there yet if some noise had not made all 

 of them look the other way. That broke the spell, and 

 we lit out. We fell over logs, scrambled through briers, 

 stubbed our bare toes against roots; but we never stopped 

 till we got into the house. The old gentleman was hoeing 

 potatoes, and we went out there and pulled weeds all the 

 afternoon and found lots of comfort keeping close to him. 

 We didn't say anything about it, not even to each other, 

 and for a while after we went to bed we lay perfectly still, 

 with the quilts over our heads. At last I whispered, 'Ike, 

 what was they?' 'Spirits,' whispered Ike. 'What sort of 

 spirits?' 'Spirits of boys that run off and get eat up with 

 bears.' 



"I've a great mind," added Ezra, addressing himself to 

 the owl, "to shoot you for what your uncles and aunts did 

 to me. I'll shy a stone at you, anyway." 



The owl alighted on a stump. Ezra said, "Now, I'll 

 just walk round you till you twist your neck off, and if 

 you choose to commit suicide that way, your blood won't 

 be on my hands." 



Twenty times he walked around that owl, and while it 

 kept its body motionless, the owl's face was always turned 

 toward him, 



"What do you think of it?" 



"Begin to think Ike was right about their being spirits " 

 said I. ' 



"Well," said Ezra, "I'll tell you how he does it. He 

 turns his head a little more than once around, and then 

 turns it back again so quick you don't notice it. I'll start 

 from square in front of him, and if you'll watch ri°-ht 

 close, when I get a little more than half-way round you'll 

 see his head turn back and stop just where it was before." 

 And knowing how and when to look, I saw it. 



The Wood Duck's Nest. 



After settling the owl matter, Ezra suggested, "Let's go 

 over to the bayou. There are two wood ducks' nests over 

 there. I want to see if they've hatched." As we neared 

 the bayou he said, "There they are, up at the other end. 

 See therm 1 They havn't seen us. and they're comino- this 

 way. Get down behind this log." 



In half an hour they came quite close, and we had an 

 excellent view of them; playing and feeding much as tame 

 ducks do, except that the mother was ever on the alert 

 tor danger. There were sixteen of the young ones. They 



did not look to be more than a day old, but they swam " 

 and dived almost equal to their mother. As it was open 

 water and not more than a foot deep, I suggested that we 

 catch the young ones and try to raise them. "We'll try 

 it," said Ezra, "but if we catch one of them, we will do 

 better than I've buen able to do yet." As we arose from 

 behind the log, the mother duck, with simulated lame- 

 ness and warning cries, half flying and half swimming, 

 went round a bend of the bayou, and every duckling dis- 

 appeared under the water, hardly leaving a ripple. We 

 rushed in where they had disappeared, and after we 

 stood still a little whi'e, the youngsters began to come up 

 all round us; and now that they were not warned by their 

 mother, did not seem much alarmed, but were too suspi- 

 cious to allow us to pick them up, and would dive if we 

 went too near them. Presently they were all gone; just 

 where, we could not tell, and the old one came back and 

 circled over head till she saw they were safely hidden, and 

 then sought safety herself,and we went into hiding again, 

 and were rewarded by seeing the old one alight on the 

 water. After carefully looking for danger and seeing 

 none, a few tender notes brought the young brood swim- 

 ming to her from their hiding places along the bank. 

 Then all swiftly and silently swam out of sight around the 

 bend. "Now," said Ezra, "let's go further down the bot- 

 tom and get some more squirrels, and as we come back 

 we will find the ducks out in the woods, if we find them 

 at all, and then we can get some of them." 



An hour and a half later we were walking along the 

 bayou, a couple of hundi-ed yards beyond where the ducks 

 had disappeared around the bend, when the old duck flew 

 from the ground. "Now we will find those youngsters," 

 said Ezra, "right where the old one flew from." It was 

 a rather open place in the woods, with nothing on the 

 ground but dead leaves, and not a duckling to be seen. 

 I said they would not be there, but Ezra said they were 

 there, and we would find them all in a bunch, and half 

 covered with leaves. And he did find them, and just that 

 way. Huddled together in a little depression in the 

 ground, half covered with dead leaves, were 16. little 

 yellow balls of down, the bright eyes being the only sign 

 of life about them. "Now," said Ezra, "we will find 

 they are a pretty lively lot, and the only way to get any 

 of them is to single out one and go for him, and then if 

 there is another one in sight, go for it." 



We captured six, which we took home in the pockets of 

 our shooting coats, and put them in a big box, but they 

 climbed right up the sides of the box, and it kept one of 

 us busy keeping them in till some boards were put over 

 the top. We did not entirely cover the box for fear tbey 

 would not have sufficient air, and next morning the duck- 

 lings were all gone. Whether they got out by their own 

 efforts or were helped by a cat, we never knew. 



0. H. Hampton. 



" Forest and Stream's" Yellowstone, 

 Park Game Exploration. 



THE STORY OF THE TRIP. 



Chicago, 111., May 24. — When the Forest and Stream 

 man stepped off from the train at Cinnabar there was an 

 eager and a nipping air coming down off Electric Peak 

 a slick-looking young U. S. lieutenant coming up the plat- 

 form, an ambulance with four gray and woolly Army 

 mules coming up the street, and Billy Hofer coming up 

 into the car. All of which made a good environment. In 

 about two minutes, after I had become well acquainted 

 with Lieut. Lindsley, we all went over and got something 

 to eat, and then started for the Post, the ambulance being 

 filled with eggs, cabbage, oranges, side meat and other 

 delicatessen beside Billy and myself, who were both good 

 things. Lieut. Lindsley, upon whom devolves the com- 

 missary work of Ft. Yellowstone, followed later in a 

 buckboard and a buffalo coat. 



The first thing curious I noticed was the belt worn by 

 the driver who negotiated the four woolly mules. He 

 wore one of the TJ. S. blanket-and-canvas storm coats, 

 better than a buffalo coat, which was girt close about him 

 by this most formidable belt — an affair made of sole 

 leather, over a foot wide, and fastened with three or four 

 smaller straps and buckles at the ends. In place, this belt 

 covered the whole body closely from the hips more than 

 half way to the shoulders, and kept all air from flowing 

 up under the clothing, as well as protecting the vitals by 

 an impervious shield. When the driver threw this belt on 

 the platform in front of the post office at Gardiner it 

 sounded as if he had dropped a keg of nails. He took off 

 his belt there so that he could drink something, I believe, 

 it being too tight for that purpose when in place. The 

 driver told me that the stage coach drivers and others ex- 

 posed to the severe winter weather of the mountains 

 could hardly endure the exposure without these big belts, 

 which made them warmer than anything else they could 

 wear — "a heap warmer than any overcoat," he said. 



Wild Game. 



An army ambulance is built for utility and not for fun. 

 The windows are cut so low at the top that you can't get 

 much good out of the landscape, if the latter stands 

 on edge, as it does in this country. I nearly broke my 

 neck trying to see the top of the mountains, and had to 

 sit flat down on the floor while I was trying to see the 

 antelope Billy was pointing out to me as we crossed the 

 Gardiner Fiats and went fairly into the great National 

 Park. There the antelope were, sure enough, with their 

 white harness hard to make out against the white back- 

 ground, though Billy's more practiced eye picked out 

 group after group, while.my big game eyes were getting 

 their first practice after a long rest. 



Beyond the flats, we began the steady climb up the 

 Gardiner to the Post, the wheels crunching through snow 

 in places apparently four feet deep. The river on our 

 right came tearing and boiling down, a lovely stream. 

 We saw some mallards contentedly swimming in a quiet 

 part of the stream and they did not fly, though we passed 

 within 20yds. of them. The little purple water ousels 

 were flying up and down the roughest parts of the water, 

 at home in the turmoil, and singing sweetly and shrilly, 

 apparently content in their wintry and forbidding home. 

 We also saw a bluebird, away up there in the snow, 

 and it did not seem unhappy or alarmed by the moua- 



