890 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 16, 1896. 
WOODCOCK, GROUSE AND PICTURES. 
The year 1895 was the one in which I was to take my 
1 ong vacation, and during the entire summer we had 
planned where we would go, what we would do, etc., and 
about every week some artiole which would be needed 
for the " big hunt " was added to our already well-stocked 
outfits. These preparatory purchases, with a frequent 
run-together to talk things over, served to pass the summer 
quickly, but they nearly drove the rest of the office force 
insane. Before I could go I had to have a dog, and right 
here is where fate stepped in and made several abrupt 
changes in the programme I had decided upon. 
It has come to be almost a proverb that most of a man's 
troubles have a female at the bottom of them, and the 
series of complications into which I was now forced was 
no exception to the general rule, though the female who 
caused an abandonment of all my late vacation plans 
was only a female English setter, 
The boys were all ready to Btart on Oct. 8, and had ar- 
ranged to put in a month at our old '94 camp at Gravel 
Dam, on Mopang Lake. I was to go along with them as 
far as, possibly, Wiscasset or some other shore town, 
where I would put in a couple of weeks with the "long 
bills" and "old Pats," then follow them into camp and 
try for big game. The supplies were all purchased and 
sent into camp, and Joe was located there and waiting 
for us, when I learned that I would not be able to go for 
a week or two unless I went without my new dog. That 
I could not do. I have been without a dog for nearly 
three years, during which time I have been continually 
on the lookout for one. As the hunting season approached 
I became desperate, but not a good dog could I find that 
it did not take hundreds to own. It might as well have 
been thousands. Finally I heard of a little bitch, half 
sister to my last dog (as good a recommendation as she 
could possibly have), and every one who knew her said 
that she was just a little bit the best bitch they had ever 
seen. I saw her owner. I tried her, and although I had 
to dig pretty deep, I bought her. I thought a bang-up 
bitch would come nearer pleasing me than a fair dog. 
That's where I hit it. 
I gave her to a friend to hunt her till I started for 
Maine; then, when it came to start for Maine I went up 
and hunted with my friend, while the boys went'down to 
camp without me. 
I was completely disheartened at the outcome of all 
my long-cherished vacation plans, but I took my gun and 
camera and Oliver's old Ned (to try and work off a sum- 
mer's accumulation of fat for him), and went up to make 
the best of it with Bob and Gypsy Belle II, — that's what 
we call her in company, but in the field I found that Zip 
seemed to fit her better. It's more of an explosive and 
travels quite a distance more quickly and without losing 
so much of its force as a longer name. Bill Perry always 
said that a good name for a dog was one that you could 
"yell." His dog is always Ben. I found that Zip was a 
good name to yell, but after we had become pretty well 
acquainted I frequently found it noc inconvenient to call 
her Gypsy, and she was such a cheerful, tireless worker, 
and withal so clever, that I easily forgave her early 
attempts to impose on me and run the hunt herself. 
Hunting them alternate days we had quite a good supply 
of dog. 
Well, Bob and I had a royal good time for two weeks, 
hunting as handsomeja'' piece of country^as the sun ever 
cast shadows over. From Wachuset Mountain on the 
A SNAP SHOT. 
Photo by C. TI. Morse. 
south to Monadnock on the north, all extremely high land 
with birch side hills and alder runs enough to hold all the 
woodcock that passed over the State; yet we started not 
over a dozen all told. Partridges were fairly plenty, but 
we hunted them like farmers, and could not seem to 
work the bunches to any advantage. "We killed all we 
cared to eat, however, gave a good many to Bob's friends, 
and at the end of a week I took a bunch home. 
Toward the end of the second week we sent for Oliver 
to come up and show us how to do the trick. He came, 
but could only show us how to let them get away, at 
which we were already past masters. Even Oliver could 
find no woodcock, and he declared that the first of the 
weekwe must go up into New Hampshire after them. 
He hai hunted them for twenty-three years and had 
never failed to find them, and he must have a woodcock 
shoot if he went to Canada and came down with the 
flight. After he left us Bob and I got down to business 
and had some good shots, one day running the score up 
to ten partridges to one gun. That day's bag made quite 
a showing. It was good enough for anyone and made up 
for several of the poor days' shooting we did. 
But the "woodies" we could not strike, and Monday 
morning I took Ned and Zip and a nice bunch of a dozen 
partridges and dropped down to Worcester, from where 
I sent home a basket of birds, for Mrs. M. thinks a broiled 
partridge about the daintiest morsel she knows of, and 
there is a little fellow of 8 down there who is good for 
half a bird any time. I believe he would relish anything 
his "dad" brought home, though, and I think he is going 
to be one of us all right. 
The next morning Oliver and myself, with another 
friend, started for the Granite State and woodcock, and 
after dinner that day we went out and killed eight. So 
Oliver had his woodcock shoot. 
We finished out the week there and had a thoroughly 
good time, and took home something over thirty birds. 
The weather was delightful and the covers easy, but the 
birds were scarce. Still we always managed to find a 
few, and saw some beautiful work by the dogs. I think 
our friend Frank had a pointer, Mack, who showed more 
style on a point or draw than any dog I ever saw, and 
together they made quite a pair. The horse would hardly 
come to a full stop beside a cover before Frank was out, 
his overcoat off, Mack bounding into the air as high as 
his head, while "Come! cornel get a wiggle on, boys I" 
urged Oliver and me to greater exertions to extricate 
ourselves and traps from the rear seat, while Eufus was 
hitching the horse. Rufus was one of the characters of 
the town, as a hanger-on about a livery stable so fre- 
quently is. 
I think I must have followed that pointer a hundred 
miles with mv camera on my back trving to get a snap 
SOMETHING TO SHOW FOR IT. 
Photo by C. H. Morse. 
at one of his hair-raising points. But I could never 
catch him. Those dogs had no more idea how a well 
bred dog who ' 'wanted his picture took" should behave 
than I have of preaching. They simply would not come 
to a stand except it was in the midst of or behind a clump 
of brush, and if we "whoa'd" them they always limbered 
up, let their tongues loll out, wagged their tails, or did 
something to spoil what we were after — an honest and at 
the same time, spirited "game" point. 
I did succeed in getting a fair snap at Ned, but in an 
unfavorable position. We wasted hours, lost dozens of 
birds, and I probably crawled several miles on hands and 
knees in a vain attempt to "get into position." However, 
I succeeded in getting a few pictures, which are very 
pleasant remembrances of a very pleasant vacation, even 
if the little bitch did upset my plans for a trip to Maine. 
C. Harry Morse. 
Boston, Mass. 
A CHEAP OUTERY. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
About two years since I built a rough cabin for outing 
purposes — as I generally manage to get a vacation during 
early summer before the big rush and jam of the season 
c jmmences — at my home in Asbury Park, and during each 
of the past two summers I have put in my vacations in 
and around that cabin, the Little Bresh, as it is called. It 
U situated among the big hills in northeastern Connecti- 
cut, on a high and dry knoll, with large oak and other 
trees in front (they cannot be seen in the photo which I 
send), and with not another house in sight, but woods all 
around. A small stream runs by a short distance in rear 
of cabin, and there is a never-failing well of the coldest, 
clearest and purest water some 40yds. in front. I had the 
well dug and stoned up especially for the use of those who 
might be at the cabin. A trout stream and several lakes 
stocked with black bass are within easy reach. 
For the benefit of the readers of Forest and Stream 
who, like myself, are not overburdened with riches and 
who nevertheless would like to have an inexpensive, 
permanent and, I might say, most delightful place to spend 
a vacation once in a while, either alone or with one's fam- 
ily or friends, I will give a few points of instruction in 
regard to the cost of some such a building. 
The specifications of this one are thus: frame 16 X 20ft., 
9|ft, posts and roof one-third rise; veranda, 5ft. in width. 
All the frame of young chestnut timber and plenty of it, 
and hewn just as little as possible. Siding of full inch 
unplaned pine boards, the outside battened with cedar 
oles averaging 4in. in diameter, halved lengthwise with 
and saw. Roof closely covered with lin. boards and 
then covered again with cedar shingles, best quality. 
The siding required nearly 1,000ft. of pine boards, and the 
floor with roof of both cabin and veranda took about 
1,300ft. of chestnut lin. boards. Floor of house, two 
thicknesses of unplaned boards; floor of veranda, one. 
Veranda roof of chestnut boards, and battened with chest- 
nut slabs, and its posts unhewn chestnut sticks. Win- 
dows cut from siding, the boards battened on the inside 
and made to Blide on girts inside and fastened with hooks. 
No glass to get broken. Door rough pine boards, bat- 
tened and hung in the usual way. 
Of cash paid out, the battens cost $10; shingles, some 
$20; and hardware, some $8 or $10 more. The rest of the 
material was furnished from the woods on the tract. 
Sawmill bill, say $20 more, and labor not far from $60. 
Had I bought all of the material, the whole cost, includ- 
ing labor, would have been not far from $150. A fire- 
place and chimney of stone, or if preferred of brick, 
could be put up for, say, $25 more, making the whole cost 
not to exceed $175. 
As I have been there only in warm weather, there has 
been no need of a chimney as yet; but earlier or later in 
the season one would be necessary and could easily be 
built, as suitable stones are plenty around there. I shall 
have a large fireplace and chimney built in the near 
future. I have now a rough stone affair a few yards from 
the cabin, where I do the cooking, and every evening have 
a rousing camp-fire in front of and but a few steps from 
the door; Although the immediate neighborhood is 
thinly populated, there is almost always quite a crowd of 
persons of both sexes to enjoy those camp-fires. Evening 
callers seem to come from all directions. 
Hammocks and a swing are hung to the branches of a 
gigantic oak standing but a few steps from the cabin. As 
to furniture, the bedstead, table, benches and stools are 
made of rough material; and even the broom that one 
may see hanging by the door in the photo, near where I 
am shown, was made out of a small nickory tree. The 
bedstead is made of four chestnut posts and some lin, pine 
boards put together like a box. It is filled with either 
straw or new-mown, well-dried hay, and covered with a 
large blanket, with other blankets for coverlets if needful; 
the bolster is filled with the same material as is in the bed. 
What delightful sleeps one can get on that rough bed! 
Although the whole establishment may look rather un- 
couth so far as utility is concerned, for me it fills the bill ex- 
actly, and by what I can learn nearly all of those who have 
seen it seem to be favorably impressed with its design. 
Now, often a tract of land near a lake, a stream, or in a 
healthy locality with pleasant scenery can be bought for 
a nominal sum, and tnen some such a cabin as the one 
here described could be built upon it, giving one who 
would enjoy such surroundings a most delightful and in- 
expensive place, as I Baid before, to spend a vacation in, 
either by himself, with his family or with his friends. 
A. L. L. 
A FOREST FIRE IN CAPE BRETON. 
The primeval forest of Cape Breton is peculiarly inflam- 
mable. There is a thick, low, resinous growth of fir and 
spruce, with a deposit of dry moss, needles and dead wood 
often several feet thick below, so that a fire once started 
the whole country flames like a furnace. I saw one of the 
fiercest of these fires ever known last summer on the 
southern coast, near the historic town of Louisbourg. 
The great Whitney Coal Syndicate was extending its 
railroad from Cow Bay to Louisbourg, when one evening 
the fireman of one of its locomotives raked the ashes from 
his furnace and went to his lodging in one of the board 
shanties of the contractor. Toward morning a brisk wind 
from the west sprung up, whisked merrily around the ash 
heap, fanned the embers to life and sifted them through 
the neighboring forest, and in a few hours a tremendous 
body of flame was rushing through the woods, licking up 
every green thing in its path and leaving only ragged, 
blackened stumps behind. 
My point of view was a high cliff above the little fishing 
village of Big Lorraine, and the flames, driven eastward 
by a fierce gale, swept along the crest of a ridge a mile 
north of me, a solid body of fire from six to eight miles 
wide, that sent a sheet of flame 70ft. in advance of it and 
a skirmishing body of sparks and live embers to five times 
that distance, while the columns of dense black smoke 
that rose eddying and swaying covered Bea and land like 
a pall, 
The Clark street district lay in a valley in the track of 
the flames — a little community of thirfty, hard-working 
farmers who lived in comfortable houses, each set in a 
clearing of thirty or forty acres in the deep wilderness. 
Beyond, on the coast, five miles distant, lay the fishing 
village of Little Lorraine, also in the path of the fire. 
From our cliff we looked down on the scene as on a pan- 
orama, and could see the farmers gathering from field 
and forest to the defense of their homes; they brought 
pails and even barrels of water, raised ladders to the roof 
and deluged thejvhole building; but in a moment the 
APL3ASANT DUTV VALU Dunni. 
iPhoto by C. H. Morse. 
long line of flame would be upon them, leap halfway 
across the clearing, as it seemed, and wrap the building 
sometimes in flame — if not, in Bbowers of sparks and live 
embers and billowy smoke that cleared usually only to 
Bhow a mass of blackened ruins where the dwelling had 
stood. 
The Clark street schoolhouse, a new structure standing 
in the forest, was the first to go. Fortunately there was 
a clearing of several hundred acres across the road, and 
by hurrying his pupils into the center of this the master 
was able to save them from serious injury, although they 
were burned and half-stifled by the showers of sparks 
rained upon them. Bursts of flame here and there told 
where houses and barns were being consumed. The fire 
advanced with frightful speed, overtaking cattle and hogs 
in the forest and burning them to death. At times it 
swept up mountain spurs and leaped from the top, writh- 
ing and twisting like a huge serpent. In the valleys it 
rose almost as high because of the greater luxuriance of 
the vegetation and accumulated combustible matter. 
Not only the buildings of the farmers, but their fences 
and growing crops — the oats, grass and potatoes in the 
fields — were destroyed. 
As the flames neared the coast the grizzled fisherman 
beside us pointed out a lofty promontory on the northeast 
and remarked that at its base lay Little Lorraine, 
"And its boun' to go," he added, "fer it's right in the 
track of the fire." 
The village did not go, however, for the people rallied 
