810 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 27, 1896. 
Shi Mv ov ^ HV i m S mr **t* 
LABRADOR SKETCHES. 
II.— My Dog. 
His name was Bear {TOurs). He was about three years 
old when I first saw him at Cawis Point, where I was 
compelled to land to avoid being caught by the ice floes 
driven toward the shore by the gale outside. There was 
a heavy sea and the rampart of ice piled up on the beach 
made landing very difficult. 
Being fully occupied in seeing to my safety and that of 
my hired man, I paid little heed to the articles lying in 
the boat, and when we touched the shore my woolen 
jumper, which I had taken off to leave my arms free, was 
washed away and I thought it lost forever. 
When we had hauled the boat up and placed our effects 
in safety we were about to start for a flsherman's house, 
when my man, Thomas, called my attention to one of the 
great waves about to break on the ice-bound shore. The 
head of a dog, holding my jumper in its teeth, appeared 
above the water. The shock of the breaking surf would 
he terrible, and what was to become of that imprudent 
and plucky animal? The wave rose higher and higher, 
was already curling into foam and in a few seconds would 
break on the strand. When the dog saw the crest rising, 
he turned right about with his head out to sea, so that 
when the wave broke he was still a few feet from the 
water-line and landed without a shock. In a twinkling 
he jumped over the rampart and gave himself a vigorous 
shake on dry land. I called him and he laid my frozen 
garment at my feet, I patted him on the head, praised 
him for his skill, and the wagging of his tail showed that 
he appreciated my remarks. 
Having thus expressed my gratitude, we went to the 
fisherman's house, where we dried our clothes, warmed 
our benumbed limbs and enjoyed a well-earned smoke. 
After a while our host, who was very proud of his 
winter's trapping, offered to show me his furs in his store- 
house. As we went out he saw our four-footed hero and, 
without saying a word, he; took up a stick and began 
beating the poor animal most unmercifully. I could not 
stand this, so I stopped him and asked what the dog had 
done. "He has been away for three days," was the 
answer. "Perhaps he is in love," I suggested. "In love I 
Not he! He is much more inclined to hate than love. 
He spends all his time in the woods killing porcupines, 
which he does not eat, and he gets his mouth stuck full 
of quills. Some of these days they will be the. death of 
him. He is a good dog and a good hauler; he swims like 
a fish, but he is no use to me." 
The upshot was that I bought this paragon of dogs for 
$3. His forefathers lived on the French shore of New- 
foundland, where the memory of their virtues and great 
deeds still lives. I am not quite sure whether he had a 
clear idea of the duties which the traditions of his ances- 
tors imposed upon him, but I think so, judging from the 
dignity of his demeanor and the expression of his eye. I 
cannot say that he was a beauty. He was black, but of a 
dull color; his feet were rather heavy and half webbed; 
his ears were short and his tail had lost most of the long 
hairs which formerly adorned it. His eye was remark- 
able, small but bright, with an eloquent and varied ex- 
pression. For me and mine it expressed unbounded affec- 
tion; for his enemies, the seals and porcupines, it became 
quite fierce; he could hate as well as he could love. 
Whence came this hatred, almost bordering on ferocity? 
What had these animals, usually so gentle and timid, done 
to him in the course of his short life? I never could find 
out, although I asked him. I often spoke to him and he 
answered me, for you know he is but a poor hunter who 
cannot understand his dog and make his dog understand 
him. 
I had the most complete control over his passions. I 
have seen him resist the most attractive temptations at 
my slightest call. I was his only love; he loved those whom 
I loved and disliked those whom I disliked, and was 
strictly polite with those to whom I was indifferent. 
When I first brought my wife to my camp he showed her 
the most sympathetic affection, and when God gave us 
two little ones he was a second father to them. Harnessed 
to a small sled, he would drive them about on the beach, 
and nothing eould exceed his careful and prudent be- 
haviour. One day, however, hatred nearly overcame his 
sense of duty, and I had to undergo one of the greatest 
anxieties I had ever felt. 
While Bear was hauling my eldest child, then two years 
old, on the beach, I climbed up on a rock to observe some 
seals which had landed and to endeavor to attract others 
which I saw swimming close by. One of them, attracted 
by my lures, came within range and I shot him. At the 
sound of the detonation the dog lifted his head and per- 
ceived my victim struggling on the surface of the water 
Gamed away by his hatred and forgetful of his precious 
charge, he set off at a gallop for the sea, which was about 
to swallow up sled and child, when I uttered a loud crv 
and jumped up on the rock on which I lay. He stopped 
at once, looked at the child, who had begun to cry at his 
unexpected bath, and quietly trotted off to the house 
meeting my wife, who had witnessed the scene from afar 
and had rushed down for the baby, 
mj ^ave up my hunting and came ashore to join them 
WT ^i 0011 ! 88 ^ he ^Peoted a severe punishment, 
but I had not the heart to give it to him. I merely took 
him by the ear and gave him a scolding, which he well 
understood. With the exception of this incident, which 
W a / attributable to my own imprudence, I never 
had to find fault with him. "over 
i H t ha v. eve J?, <l ual . ity wh »c h a dog should have, and he 
lost his hfe while helping me to keep my family from per- 
ItwaainlSSQ. I was in temporary charge 
of the lighthouse on Puffin Island, a rocky islet three milts 
from shore, m the midst of the most dangerous eddies and 
currents, whose only denizens previous to my arrival were 
gannets and the sea parrots or puffins from which it takes 
its name. In winter all communication is cut off owine: 
to the ice being constantly in motion. As I reached there 
late m the fall, 1 was unable to procure a sufficient supnlv 
m such a situation and in such a climate. I set to work 
atoncetocoUectaU the driftwood I could find on mv 
iauuiu and the smaller ones near it. I got together sev- 
eral piles of this wood, which is carrild down by the 
spring freshete, and we wont for it as it was required, 
About the middle of March aU the wood on the lighthouse 
island was exhausted and I had toj supply myself from the 
other islands, which were connected with mine by an ap- 
parently solid ice bridge, consisting of ice floes packed to- 
gether, and which stretched away out to sea as far as the 
eye could reach from the light tower. 
After sounding the ice I set out with my man and Bear, 
who was quite delighted to be harnessed to a sled. For 
three days we hauled wood to the house, and at the end 
of the third, whUe we were taking our last load, pulling 
with the dog as hard as we could, and had almost reached 
the rampart on the shore, the ice, weakened under- 
neath by the action of the current, suddenly gave way 
behind us and the unfortunate dog, caught between the 
shafts of the loaded sleigh, was carried under the ice by 
the water rushing past like a torrent. For some moments 
we held on to the line and pulled with might and main, 
hoping to save the poor animal, when the line broke and 
he disappeared under the floe. I was about to jump in 
with the insane idea of helping him out, but my man, who 
saw the danger, caught me by the arm and held me. I 
sat. down on the ice and am not ashamed to say that I 
cried bitterly. 
Such was the end of poor Bear. 
H. DE PlXYJALONS. 
FISHING AND WILD FLOWERS. 
It is raining. I believe it was raining when I last wrote. 
But it hasn't rained continually since, as some carping 
people might be disposed to assume because this is in 
Washington. Oh, no. There have been days, as many 
as several, when the sun rose in an unclouded sky, ran 
his dafly race undimmed and hadn't a single cloud cover- 
let to puU over him as he bade us good night. Those 
were glorious days. Just the sort in which to go a-fish- 
ing, and being so, if a person didn't utilize them properly 
precious time was wasted and he had repinings. (Excuse 
rae a moment, please, I see a bluejay on the fence. Blue- 
jays are thieves, robbers and vandals. They come early 
in the morning before we are up and pull up corn and 
peas and other garden sass, and the garden is small and 
we can't afford it. They do us harm and not good. 
They are to us evil and evil only. What they might be to 
people back East who nurse bluejays I do not know, and 
care not. Here we have bluejays to burn — powder on. 
It Is a case of survival of the fittest, and we are that 
same. Bluejays here are different from the Eastern bird 
— they are solid indigo blue all over; and again they are 
the same— they scream and scold. This one wiU scream 
no more; he is gathered. Let us resume.) In order to 
avoid bitter regrets I went fishing one of those days. 
I got up middling early for me and got away at about 
6:30. Did it all without the blood-curdling rattle of the 
deadly alarm clock too. Positive fact. I merely note it as 
showing that a man can rise and go fishing (and probably 
hunting) without the time-worn experience of the alarm 
clock. 
I had no beast to ride, and there was not a wagon on 
the place. There are no wagon roads and the hills are so 
steep that I couldn't have used a wagon if I'd had one, 
so I went afoot. I'd rather go afoot anyway — under the 
circumstances — one has time to see things. The stream 
I sought was over the hills and miles away, and there 
was naught but a trail to follow, very dim in places, and 
in addition part of the way was by a traU unused for 
years, never followed by me, overgrown with sal-lal 
brush and dim enough here and there to awaken a de- 
lightful uncertainty as to there having been any trail in 
that section. But that made it all the more interesting. 
True, if I lost it entirely I might wander around all day 
in that dense, gloomy fir forest, and the fishing would 
have to be put off untfl another day, but it was explora- 
tion just as much as though it were along the Congo, and 
as I couldn't go there this would have to answer. I might 
have gone around further by a plainer trail, but I wanted 
to indulge my curiosity a little and test my ability to pick 
up something faint. Then there was the delight of seeing 
strange country and the possibility of running across a 
pterodactyl or a dodo or something to tell about. I'm very 
glad I didn't, however, for I took no gun, concluding be- 
fore starting that 91bs. of Marlin and a few pounds of 
trout would be too much for comfort. 
Part of my way the first hour— after I had left the 
valley and cUmbed a heart-breaking hUl of several 
hundred nearly 4 perpendicular feet— lay through a tract 
that had long since been burned over, where trees were 
sparse, and where rhododendron and huckleberry were 
in full sway, and here I feasted my eyes on one of the 
most beautiful sights I have ever witnessed. It was the 
season of full bloom of the rhododendron, and there were 
acres and acres of the loveUest pink-bedecked bushes that 
were ever arrayed for the delectation of man. Here and 
there where the bushes stood thickly were masses of the 
softest, most delicate beautiful pink ever painted by the 
great Artist, and scattered aU over that large area, never 
far apart, were innumerable clusters of dainty blossoms, 
a panorama of exquisite beauty, matchless, indescribable'. 
Verily, there is something in Washington besides rain. 
I'm glad I went fishing. A person is most always glad 
when he does right. 
The rhododendron is in full flower now all over the 
State, and on the hiUs one is rarely out of sight of the 
beautiful bloom, but it is only now and then that one is 
granted such a view as I have hinted at. Sometimes, as 
on this day, even in the deepest recesses of the forest, one 
may see a spot of pink, a lovely bush among the gloomy 
shadows glowing from between the thickly towering tree 
trunks, a brave bright smile in spite of somber shades 
that is most charming. 
This is a favored country for flowers. The wild rose 
bushes are sheets of fragrant flame; all the berries, and 
their name is legion, are in bloom almost everywhere. In 
the damp bottoms along the creeks, along the hillsides 
in the thick woods, in the clearings, through the burned 
tracts on the hills, where there is seemingly naught but 
garvel and rock; every place has its favorite flower, mod- 
est or gay and flaunting. I am sorry I cannot give the 
botanical names of all these plants; it would be such a 
comfort. But I don't carry a botany with me, and the 
one I studied in my youth did not say anything about 
Washington varieties. However, I know a flower when 
I see it, and can admire its beauty an d sniff its fragrance 
just the same. There is a bush which grows on the upper 
levels here that exudes lightly, from its leaves, a moisture 
slightly viscous and of balsamic, aromatic odor that is 
very, pleasant, and I never miss an opportunity when 
near it of passing my hands over the leaves, and so tak- 
ing an impalpable bouquet along with me for a season. 
It is in bloom now and the white blossoms have a faint, 
dainty odor that is very pleasant. The dogwood is in 
bloom now also, holding out handsome flowers like sau- 
cers without the cups, and flecking with white 
the greenery that crowds it closely in the thick- 
ets; whfle the ferns, Washington's representative 
plants, of all sorts and sizes, are everywhere, mounting 
into the air and still growing as though they would never 
stop. Over 8ft. high is the common variety now of this 
season's growth in good soil, and shows no sign of calling 
a halt. Of course good soil is not omnipresent, and you 
don't find such growth broadcast, but it is nothing un- 
usual in the valleys. But the maid enhairsl You should 
Bee the masses of delicate, graceful fronds hanging over 
some bank in the cool shade, where the water trickles 
musically down, and the passing breeze dallies with their 
graceful tresses. It is a sight for weary eyes that find one 
poor puny fern in twenty-five square miles in tbe effete 
East. And the sword-ferns too, with their broad, grace- 
fully formed, sharp blades, unsheathed, standing straight 
in clusters, full of strength, as though anxious to be given 
an opportunity to show their prowess in some gay tourna- 
ment where knights of fair Flora should contend for the 
wreath of victory at the hands of their beautiful queen. 
They are also finely in evidence, and there are many other 
lovely things to be had for the search, between showers, 
if one is in the humor. 
The mosses too, to be found everywhere in many vari- 
eties in the damp, cool spots, are as lovely creations as can 
well be imagined, and a book of them pressed makes a 
beautiful souvenir that any one might be proud to possess. 
But the seaweeds and mossesl Who can fittingly describe 
those inexpressibly dainty, graceful, waving, floating, al- 
most ethereal creations, nurtured by the salt waves and 
tinted in such colors as defy the art of man, and cause 
exclamations of wonder and delight by all who behold 
them. Tastefully mounted on cardboard, they are a 
source of never-ending admiration. I have seen collec- 
tions from Eastern shores, but I do not remember to have 
seen any that approach these in point of color or variety. 
Verily, I remark once more, there is something else be- 
sides rain in Washington. There is, there is. 
You remember that in one of my recent letters I men- 
tioned finding a water ousel's nest on one of my fishing 
trips and bringing it home with me. Well, I visited the 
same spot on this last trip, of which I said something in 
the beginning of this letter, and found that the despoiled 
beauties had forthwith gone to work and buUt another 
nest in the same place, on a little sloping shelf on almost 
a perpendicular rock wall close by the spray of the fall; 
but this last nest is double, one nest just above the other, 
connected, the entrances about 6in. apart, but interiors 
not connected. Two separate nests in the same bunch of 
moss. The upper was empty, but the lower contained 
four eggs and a just hatched wee little ouselette, but what 
surprised me as much as anything was the Bize of the eggs. 
They were immense for the size of the bird, almost as 
large, it seemed to me, as those of the robin. They were 
slightly larger at one end than the other and in color pure 
white. It seemed to me a big disproportion between the 
size of bird and egg and a pretty big tax on the hen, but 
she seems to stand it aU right. Now what do you suppose 
that upper nest was for? I couldn't see that it was one 
whit inferior to the lower. It was just as well built, fin- 
ished and protected as the other, to my unprofessional 
eye, but probably there were faults or deficiencies in it 
which couldn't be accepted or overlooked by the archi- 
tects, and so they buUt another. But I think they built 
the upper nest last, from the aspect of things. Then 
what? Why, they either intended the spare nest for the 
next robber or their ambition to raise a family was greater 
than their capacity, or they intended the upper nest for a 
nursery. I couldn't find out which, for there was no one 
at home when I called, and I left the nest as it wae, hop- 
ing that no one would spy it out and so interfere with 
domestic bliss in the ousel famUy. The double nest was 
not as large as the first single one. I could not see into it, 
of course, for the entrance was upward and then inward, 
overhung by a mossy hood, preventing my inlook, even 
had I been on a level with it, which I was not by a foot or 
two, having to reach up and explore the interior with my 
fingers. 
Coming home after a day of unalloyed delight, I sur- 
prised a mother grouse (ruffed) with her brood in a bend 
of the trail, and the usual grouse ground and lofty tum- 
bling immediately ensued, preceded by a performance I 
do not remember to have seen before. This was the rais- 
ing and spreading her tail exactly like that of a turkey 
cock when he is strutting, and waltzing around with her 
taU in the air with an air of defiance that was funny 
enough. Then suddenly all her legs and wings were 
broken, and she flapped and fluttered, edging gradually 
away, clucking and warning, circling around and coming 
toward me again, finally stopping, and opening her bul 
widely uttered a cry or squawk very like a domestic hen 
when seized, but of course not so loud. She repeated this 
a good many times, finaUy flying to a lower limb of a tree 
near by, where I left her to reassemble her brood, that had 
suddenly become invisible to my careful search, as only 
young grouse or quail can. 
Oh! About the fish? Well, I brought home thirty-two 
trout, lovely black-spotted mountain trout, the longest 
llfin. and the shortest just short of 10in., having thrown 
back but five that were only a little smaller, and when 
the catch was laid out on a bench at the liome coming, 
with their beads on a line, I thought that, considering the 
number, the number thrown back and the average size, 
it was a pretty sight and weU worth the ten-mile tramp it 
took to get them, and also a sore heel and a lame knee or 
two. The coachman did the business. O. O. S. 
Washington, June 1. 
Where Would I Hold? 
Mr. Wilmot Townsend, of Bay Ridge, N. Y, has sup- 
plemented his weU-known and ingenious drawing, 
"Where would You Hold?" with another, entitled 
"Where would I Hold? There with my First." The first 
picture shows a group of broadbillB which have just come 
within range, and are so grouped as to give a chance for 
twa birds at one shot, if only one knew just where to hold. 
The second and companion picture shows the effect of 
holding on the spot chosen by the artist. Mr. Townsend 
tells us that the edition of his picture, "Outside the Dan- 
ger Line," has been sold out. 
