70 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July 38, 1894. 
was an island where a man. lived who was 114 years old, 
had known Napoleon, and was wonderfully interesting. 
His wife was old, but she did not know her age. They 
lived entirely alone on this island, twenty miles from any- 
body; and the captain could sail us near and anchor for 
the night. We reached there at 4 P. M., and immediately 
rowed over. 
The old lady came down the beach to meet us, exclaim- 
ing, "I am glad, oh I am so glad to see you," and invited 
us to the house. This was a rude affair, with two small 
rooms, without plaster or paint, but very comfortable 
when compared with the "shack" house she had lived in 
until a few months previous to our visit. To our great 
regret when we asked where her husband was, she said, 
"Ob, my old man he's gone tar-a-pin [meaning terrapin] 
fishing. He's got tar-a-pin on the brain, my old man has." 
I could but think, notwithstanding her almost complete 
isolation, that she had "caught on" to some of the modern 
slang. Soon after we were seated she brought in a plate 
and filled it with bananas, which she passed, insisting on 
each taking one. She said she always "liked to treat folks 
nice that came to see her." Upon thanking her, her reply 
was, "You are very welcome, m'am, indeed you are wel- 
come." I could but think this true hospitality. Upon 
asking her if she lived entirely alone when her husband 
was away, she said, "All but the chickens; they are a 
mighty lot of company daytimes, but they go to bed right 
early — then I ain't got nobody." When I asked her how 
she managed to get enough to eat she told me she had 
plenty clams, oysters, fish, etc. "Do you ever make clam 
chowder?" I asked. "Yes, m'am." "How do you make 
it?" "Well, m'am, I take a little pork, slice it, and put in 
the kettle with the clams and water. Sliced potatoes, if I 
have them. Onions is good in chowder; put some in if 
I've got 'em. Tomato is mighty nice; don't have that 
much, though. I like black pepper, too; always put it in 
if I've got it." "But," I said, "Mrs. Gomez, how do you 
make chowder without these things?" "Why, leave 'em 
out." I imagine her chowder consists many times of 
pork, clams and water. 
She walked a long way on the beach with us on our 
way to our boats, and she remarked to me, "Well, m'am, 
if I had a dollar for every time I've been down to this 
beach, why I'd have a million of 'em." "What makes 
you come down so often?" I inquired, "Lonesome, m'am, 
so lonesome I can't stay in the house." 
As we rowed away from the shore, it was pitiful to look 
back at her, standing there alone, her head bent forward, 
her eyes fixed on our receding boats, her figure outlined 
against the sky, and the wind blowing her scanty gar- 
ments about her. It was a picture of desolation, and 
affected us all deeply. After we were back it occurred to 
us, why did we not ask her over to take supper? Every 
man was on his feet instantly, saying. "I'll go and fetch 
her over." She seemed so happy and delighted! At the 
table one. of the gentlemen was talking to me about how 
lonely it must be for them, and remarked, "But I suppose 
they don't mind it; they get used to it." I did not know 
she had heard the remark, but she made answer, "Never 
do get used to it, sir." When it came time for her to go 
home, she wanted to stay longer; said she didn't feel in 
any hurry, if we didn't. 
The next morning as we sailed away, we saw her 
standing watching us, and as long as we could see her 
through our glass, her eyes were seaward. Somehow we 
felt we were breaking the link between her and civiliza- 
tion. We have wondered many times if her "old man" 
ever came back. He has a little old boat with a rag of a 
sail, and he goes out miles in the ocean all alone. I think 
with her, "he's getting too old to goby himself." She said 
"he had kind of queer spells, and she had to give him a 
heap of Jamaica ginger to rouse him up." We talked 
about what will become of them when one dies — with not 
a soul within twenty miles — and we all echoed the 
thought, "Oh, solitude where are they charms?" As we 
sailed up to the pier at St. James City, in Charlotte 
Harbor, we saw a fine tarpon that a gentleman had just 
landed. It weighed lOOlbs. One of our party, a gentle- 
man from Kentucky, who has a winter home in Clear- 
water, and who has been very ambitious to land a tarpon 
with rod and reel (and who, by the way, had as fine a 
tarpon outfit as he could buy), could not withstand the 
temptation to try his skill and his new rod, so he decided 
to leave us and put in a few days fishing. We sailed as 
near Punta Eassa as we could get, and then rowed him 
over there and left him. 
For days after our return we were expecting a telegram 
hourly from Tom saying he had landed his fish, but 
instead one morning he put in an appearance, and the 
fish he had promised himself to get before he left the 
west coast was still in the deep sea. Tom is a good 
fisherman and he was not discouraged, so he spent a day 
in getting his tackle in order and providing enough for 
the sharks, who were more friendly than the tarpon, and 
did not hesitate to take bait, hook, line and the whole 
business. When all was ready he said he would catch a 
tarpon in Clearwater Bay before he went home. Well, he 
fished from early morning until sundown, until one 
morning he went out and at 11 o'clock A. M, landed with 
his rod and reel a magnificent one weighing 1301bs. The 
next day his brother caught one, and upon reaching 
shore he threw his line, with the tarpon, on the sand 
while he pulled up his boat; and much to his surprise 
and disgust the fish flopped over, broke the snood and 
flopped into the water again. The bay is full of tarpon, 
but there is some trouble in getting them, because the 
sharks are so plentiful. 
To resume my story. One day one of our ladies thought 
she would try her hand fishing, and accordingly put out a 
trolling line. Directly I heard her call , ' 'Come, quick, and 
help. I have a fish." Two or three ran and helped her 
pull, and when it came in sight she found she had a 
shark. 
The rest of our trip was uneventful, and we came 
home as rapidly as wind and tide would permit, landing 
safely in Clearwater Harbor on the morning of the thir- 
teenth day. We all felt that our trip had been one of 
genuine pleasure; and we will long remember cruising 
down the West Florida coast. H. N. C. 
Battle Ohebe;, Micb. 
[Our issue of July 8, 1893, contained a capital portrait 
of John Gomez and his wife, and a picture of their 
thatched house. The photographs were sent us by "Tar- 
pon" and illustrated his story of a cruise to the Ten 
Thousand Islands. According to "Tarpon," Gomez reck- 
ons his years from 1781.] 
WATCHING A GROUSE DRUM. 
Early in one October I had the only opportunity which 
has ever presented itself in my twenty years of experi- 
ence in forest and field of studying the method employed 
by the cock partridge in producing that peculiar sound 
known among sportsmen as drumming. 
I was out with my gun looking for quail quite early in 
the morning, and was working toward a small wooded 
swamp where I knew the birds found a safe shelter at 
roosting time, as well as from the gun when flushed by 
dog, for no hunter, no matter • how ardent, would have 
the temerity to brave the suckholes and wild brier vines. 
Hearing the call of a quail I stopped to listen and locate 
him positively. I stood facing a stone wall, distant about 
six rods, on each side of which grew hazel bushes. Sud- 
denly out of those on the opposite side sprang a fine old 
cock partridge and dropped on the wall directly in front 
of me, tail spread, ruff standing out and crest raised — the 
picture of alertness. What a chance for an artist. I 
hardly breathed. Between us was a small alder bush, 
tall and slim. This was the only shelter, yet the bird 
did not seem to notice me, for after standing a moment 
he began preening himself, seeming to enjoy the rays of 
the sun, which shone warm and bright. 
I stood and watched him thus for probably ten min- 
utes; and was considering whether to let him go alto- 
gether or flush and try a shot, when he stopped, shook 
himself, stretched one wing and leg, then the other, took 
a look all around, and slightly raising his feathers, as a 
sitting hen when disturbed, raised his wings a little above 
a horizontal line and brought them down against his 
body, increasing the time until it ended in a flutter, as it 
seemed. This I watched him repeat; the third time I 
moved slightly; he spotted me and moved also. But I 
stopped him not 10ft. from where he stood; and when I 
heard him giving his last flutter I felt like a murderer. 
I am perfectly satisfied on one point, however, that the 
"mysterious noise," as some term it, is produced by strik- 
ing the wings against the body. As many will admit, 
who have had the opportunity to observe, the sound is 
more pronounced and distinct at a distance than very 
near it, where it has a muffled fluttering sound. 
Many theories are advanced on the subject, among 
them one to the effect that the bird stands on a hollow 
log and strikes it with his wings, thus producing the 
sound from the log. I inclose a clipping from a daily 
paper, which speaks of this method quite positively. But 
in the instance of which I write there was no possibility 
of my making a mistake, as the bird was in plain sight 
all of the time and stood on a stone wall; consequently 
the sound must have come from striking the body, as I 
have said. F. A. C. 
Connecticut. 
IN WASHINGTON WILDS. 
Our long-time correspondent, "Forked Deer," of Cali- 
fornia, sends us the following extracts from a letter 
written to him by a friend who is homesteading in Wash- 
ington. They give some notion of the incidents which 
amid such surroundings break up the monotony of ex- 
istence, dispel ennui and make life worth the living: 
Some two months ago a man who was working for me 
got his fingers jammed one day so that he could not 
work, so he went home, some two miles, on the river 
where his claim is. He has a wife and two small chil- 
dren, the youngest a girl two and a half years old. They 
have lost several chickens, always taken in the daytime; 
his wife had seen the animal and thought it to be a wild- 
cat. Well, this day, when the man got home, he took 
the bucket and started to the river for water, some 50yds. 
away. His bird dog followed him. When half way, 
the dog began to growl and whine; and there right beside 
the path lay a cougar. George halloed and the cougar 
sprang at the dog, but missed it and ran, George after it, 
the dog barking. It went down the river some 50yds. , 
and then climbed a small hemlock about 30ft. and sat 
snapping and growling at them. George called to his 
wife to bring his rifle. When she brought it there was 
but one cartridge, so she went back to the house and got 
some more. Then George put a ball through the cougar's 
head that brought it down. To make sure George put 
two more balls into it; and they dragged it to the house. 
It was a female and had had kittens, but had lost them. 
Very likely the male had killed them. George went to a 
near neighbor to get a young fellow to help him skin it. 
While he was gone, his wife was looking at it and saw 
some of the muscles twitch. She thought it was going 
to come to life again, so she took an axe and just chopped 
its head to pieces. It was a very large cougar, measuring 
7ft. from tip to tip. They have lost no more chickens. 
It is a wonder that it had not taken the little girl, for she 
often went some way from the house. 
A cougar was seen about a mile and a half from me the 
other day. A man met it in the road; it stood and looked 
at him; the man took his pistol and fired two shots at it, 
when it jumped on a log and trotted off, and did not 
appear to be in any hurry about it either. I had been 
over the road myself not more than a half hour before 
with a rifle, and I would have been pleased to say good 
morning to the gentleman. 
Two weeks ago I took a puppy and started out to pick 
some whortleberries half a mile from the house, where I 
knew there were plenty. When I got on to the ground, 
I sat down on to a log and began to pick. They were 
hanging thick on all sides, the red and the black. After 
a moment or two I heard the cracking of limbs and brush 
a little way off in the timber. I thought the natives must 
be around. Soon there was snarling and growling; it 
sounded as if there might be a large family of them, and 
they were coming my way. I had no gun, so I got up on 
a big log and kept still. Soon I saw what all the racket 
was. Two bears were quarreling and fighting over a few 
berries. One approached within 20yds. of where I was, 
and I had a chance of seeing a bear pick berries. He 
would sit up and reach around a bunch of bushes that had 
berries on, and then with his paws he would scrape them 
into his mouth, leaves and all. I suppose the leaves helped 
to fill up. At last he got a scent that did not suit him, 
took a turn and looked squarely at me; blew his nose; 
took another good smell that satisfied him; gave one snort, 
and broke for the tall timber. The other bear was quickly 
alarmed, and away they went, leaving me to finish my 
picking in peace. 
I saw, the other morning, something that amused me. 
There were some roots burning and I threw on some rot- 
ten wood. It made a thick smoke, and while I was look- 
ing at it I saw a water ousel flying straight toward me 
with that peculiar flight of theirs which they always have 
when they are going to alight — it seems as if it was the 
last inch it could possibly fly, although they are very 
strong of wing. Well, he lit on a root not ten feet away 
from me, looked at me and walked down the root into 
the thick smoke, and there shook out his feathers the 
same as a bird does when bathing. He stayed until I 
thought he must smother; then he walked out and winked 
and blinked so queerly that it made me laugh; then went 
in again. He went through this performance four times, 
then flew away to the creek. Perhaps some others have 
seen the same thing, but I never heard of anything like it 
before. C. B. R. 
Winter Home of the Barren Ground Caribou. 
BY J. B. TYRRELL, M.A., F.G.S., E.G.S.A. 
Among the few large animals still found in great num- 
bers on this continent, the barren-ground caribou (Bangi- 
fer groenlandieus, Linn.) is probably the most interesting 
and important. It is the principal occupant of the great 
lonely wastes that extend southward from the shores of 
the Arctic Sea, not only in America but also in Europe 
and Asia. The Indians who people the northern part of 
Canada, including the Chipewyans, Yellow-knives and 
Dog-ribs, subsist very largely on its flesh, while its light 
warm skin with its thick covering of light gray hair fur- 
nishes them with beds and winter clothing, and the 
tanned hides, sewed with the sinews from the back, 
supply them with footgear and comfortable tents. In 
fact all their necessities, except their ammunition, tea and 
tobacco, and a small amount of summer clothing, are 
supplied by the caribou. 
. In size the barren ground caribou is much smaller than 
the woodland species, an adult female shot by the writer 
near Lake Athabasca being about as large as the common 
Virginia deer of this vicinity, and weighing about 150lbs.; 
while an adult male of the woodland species, obtained in 
the rocky country east of Lake Winnipeg, the head of 
which is now in the Museum of the Geoloeical Survey, 
weighed between 300 and 4001bs. 
The horns are very large and irregular, very few of 
them being alike, and all being apparently unsuited to 
travel through the thick woods. The males are said to 
shed their horns in iNovember, while the females retain 
theirs throughout the winter and shed them early in the 
following spring. 
Their winter coat of long hair is shed early in July, and 
by August or the beginning of September the hide is in 
excellent condition, and the hair is soft and not too long, 
so that at this season the Indians endeavor to kill a suffi- 
cient number to furnish themselves with clothing for the 
winter. Later in the year the hair becomes harder and 
more brittle, and the hide is said to be riddled with holes 
made by the larvee of a bot fly. 
In summer these deer live on the great rocky wilderness 
that extends from a short distance north of Athabasca 
and Reindeer lakes, between Great Slave Lake and Hud- 
son's Bay, to the Arctic Ocpan. In the autumn they col- 
lect together in large bands and move southward into the 
wooded country where they spend the winter, leaving 
again for the barrens in the early spring. 
During the present year the writer spent the summer in 
one of their favorite wintering grounds in the hitherto 
unexplored region north of Churchill River and southeast 
of Lake Athabasca. Almost all of the deer were at the 
time away to the north, but a few stragglers had re- 
mained behind. 
Our party entered the country by ascending the Caribou 
River, a stream about as large as the Rideau, flowing into 
Churchill River 225 miles north of Battleford. On the 
first of J uly it was found to be at its extreme high water 
level. Its banks were overhung with willows, and its bed 
was quicksand, so that we could neither track nor pole, 
but were obliged to ascend it with the paddle against a 
heavy and constant current. The river "flows in a wide 
valley, with high granite ridges at some distance back. 
As the river is ascended, poplar, white spruce, and all 
underbrush gradually disappear, and the country becomes 
generally wooded with Bauksian pine, with black spruce 
m the wet plares, and great stony tracts devoid of timber 
of any kind. We have now reached the winter home of 
the caribou which in this region stretches northward from 
about Lat. 56° 45'. It consists of long, almost bare hills of 
Archaean rocks, separated by wide valleys, the bottoms of 
which are filled with sand and ridges" of boulders. In 
these valleys lie many small lakes, on the shore of one of 
which, near the head of Caribou River, the Hudson's Bay 
Company established a small trading post last autumn, 
and traded with the Indians throughout the winter, but 
in spite of the fact that meat is abundant the Indians are 
not going back there this winter and the post has been 
abandoned. 
The Indians report that the deer collect on the frozen 
surface of these lakes during the day in immense herds, 
and are readily killed as long as the desire remains to 
shoot them, or till the whole herd is exterminated. My 
informant stated that last winter the hunters killed from 
one to three hundred apiece. — Proceedings of the Cana- 
dian Institute. 
A Tame Partridge. 
North Batimore, O., July 16.— I have a female par- 
tridge (commonly called here pheasant) that was caught 
during a blinding snow storm on Feb. 3, 1894. The snow 
was more than one foot deep, and when the partridge lit 
it buried itself in the snow. An oil pumper saw it light, 
and going to the place pushed his hand around in the 
snow and caught it without much struggle. He brought 
it home and kept it in the house for a few days, when I 
bought it of him. It was placed in a wire cage six feet 
square, and kept in the yard until about four weeks ago, 
when it accidentally got out. Instead of leaving, as we 
supposed it would, it stays about the yard and in the 
orchard, where we have eight pet deer. It is quite tame, 
does not offer to leave or fly away, and will submit to 
being caught. It is very fond of small grain of any kind 
and will feed with the chickens. We have always been 
told that partridges could not be tamed, but that is a mis- 
taken idea. We judge it to be one or two years old; it is 
sound, healthy, of full regulation size, and is becoming 
very tame. D. E. P 
