224 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 15, 1894. 
utnml Wwtow. 
AN INDIAN MOUND. 
Here is the story of our mound exploration one sum- 
mer when we were camped on the Island cf Put-In-Bay, in 
the western end of Lake Erie. We had a boat, flat 
bottomed, about 16ft. long and rigged to carry a sprit- 
sail and pull two pair of oars. We had a small sail made 
for her, and said, "This sail will be a great help when the 
wind favors us. Atothertimes we will row." But: wenever 
did row. When the wind was contrary we waited for it 
to change. We did not row five miles through that 
glorious summer. We stayed on one of that cluster of 
islands until tired of it, and when the wind came favor- 
able sailed off to another. We fished, hunted, geologized 
a little, plundered the farmers' vines and generally en- 
joyed ourselves. But finally we did do some really 
serious work, and that is what I mean to tell about. 
The outer barrier of Sandusky Bay is a long island 
named Catawba . and only separated from the mainland 
by a creek. We had heard of a remarkable Indian 
mound on the western shore of this island, and one beau- 
tiful July morning started out to find it. We had 
shovels, picks and all the necessary digging implements, 
kettle, frying pan, coffee pot, and all the more necessary 
feeding implements; plenty of stores; lots of muscle and 
pluck, and last, but not least, a favorable wind. On the 
western shore of Catawba Island is a little islet, barely a 
quarter of a mile square, called Sugar Rock. It lies in a 
deep bay, is connected with the main island on the north 
by a narrow reef of pebbles, bearing a single line of trees. 
On the south there is a similar reef, but it does not reach 
the shore; and through the interval is a passage to a 
broad and quiet lagoon, one of the few places where the 
great nelumbium shows its large pallid flowers and its 
wash-basin leaves. 
The islet is covered with trees of good size; is rocky and 
uneven in surface, and on the northwesterly side rises in- 
to cliffs of some sixty feet in height. On the highest 
point of these cliffs, facing the west, was the mound 
which we were anxious to investigate. Our first camp was 
on the shores of the lagoon, and that proved to be a mis- 
take. Not that the ground was hard; we were used to 
that, and a convenient straw-stack materially palliated 
that difficulty. But how thick the mosquitoes were! 
Right here let me enter my protest against Captain Mayne 
Reid. We had all read his books, and had learned that 
fresh pennyroyal, bruised and used profusely would cer- 
tainly drive away the boldest mosquito. We were at the 
believing age, and believed in Captain Mayne Reid and 
pennyroyal, so we got lots of it and calmly prepared for 
night and mosquitoes. We bruised that pennyroyal; 
rubbed it on face and hand3; covered ourselves with it. 
Did it hinder the robust mosquitoes of the wild and 
watery west? Not a bit of it. They liked it. It seemed 
to stir them up to a more eager activity than common, 
which was unnecessary. Put it down in big letters that 
pennyroyal as a mosquito preventive is a humbug. 
In the morning we changed our camp to the western 
shore of Sugar Islet itself. It took a good while to get 
settled, and to get the commissary department properly 
supplied and going. One never understands how much 
time and labor go to supply the ordinary requirements 
and comforts of life, until he gets into camp and does for 
himself; and then he don't get the ordinary comforts; but 
he has some extraordinary pleasures that go far to make 
up for their absence; nevertheless a man who is ordinarily 
weak and lazy had better have a guide to do the camp 
work. The extra expense is cheap at its cost, and so is 
thf extra comfort. 
There was a confiding farmer near by with whom we 
negotiated for supplies, and obtained them at rates which 
seemed to us remarkable. White clover honey a eight 
cents per pound, splendid household bread at four cents a 
loaf, and chickens on the hoof at fifteen cents apiece. 
The latter were running loose over the whole neighbor- 
hood. We had no firearms and had to do the best we 
could with pebbles from the beach for artillery. There 
was a good deal of labor to the capture of each chicken, 
but lots of fun in it, and it was afternoon before the camp 
was organized and victualled, and we could get at the 
mound. 
On the westerly angle of the islet, where the cliffs are 
highest, a level platform, approximately circular and 
about 60ft. in diameter, had been constructed by filling 
the inequalities with limestone boulders, and in the cen- 
ter of this platform stands a mound, at present about 10ft. 
in height and 40ft. in diameter. Its surface was, and is, 
covered with loose masses of limestone, such as are now 
found everywhere on the islet, varying in size, but none 
too large for a man to lift. Upon the mound were two or 
three good-sized stumps of the red cedar, their roots 
striking down through the boulders, and blackberry 
bushes and other brushwood made quite a tangle over it. 
Near the center was an excavation of about 4ft. deep 
made by a former exploring party, and we determined to 
attack at that point, widening and lengthening the hole. 
The covering of boulders proved to be from one to two 
feet deep, and among these enormous quantities of human 
bones were irregularly scattered, much broken but un- 
mistakable. There must have been two or three bush- 
els in the space we uncovered, which was a very 
small part of the entire surface. Beneath the 
boulders was an irregular layer of black, vegetable 
earth, averaging perhaps 6in. in depth, and beneath this 
was a hard and compact mass of yellowish brown clay, 
which formed the bulk of the mound. There is no 
such clay on the islet and it must have been brought 
there in canoes, and thence carried to the site on men's 
backs. That clay was extraordinarily hard to dig, being 
very tough and dense, and containing small boulders, 
which were always ready to catch the edge of the spade 
or the point of the pick. Soon nothing but the pick 
could be used, and it took a good many minutes to 
work out a shovel full of earth. We were all city boys, 
pretty muscular and healthy, but not used to hard manual 
labor, and the work told on us rapidly. But we stuck to 
it, taking alternately the pick, the spade and the hoisting 
basket, and none of us thought of giving in until we had 
got to she bottom of the mound. Still supper time was 
welcome, and the hot coffee and broiled chicken were 
more delicious than anything Delmonico can give us now. 
Then how good the pipe was as we sat around our camp- 
fire made of red cedar driftwood, and how soft the ground 
seemed when we rolled up in our blankets under the 
little tent, and how quickly we went to sleep in spite of a 
pint of strong coffee each had consumed. Then the 
glorious bath at sunrise, a hearty breakfast and back to 
the mound again with muscles that were stiff at first from 
yesterday's labors, but which limbered up after a few 
minutes' performance on the pick. 
So we worked for two days, finding very rarely a frag- 
ment of bone, and twice or thrice an arrow head, but 
nothing of particular interest until nearly the end of the 
third day. Then we fouDd, beneath the clay, and resting 
upon another stratum of black vegetable soil, nearly but 
not exactly in the center of the mound, a hearth of about 
7ft. in diameter by 6in. thick, and composed of pebbles 
from the beach. Upon the hearth rested about 6in. of 
fine gray ashes, so completely burned that no fragment 
of charred wood or bone could be distinguished, and con- 
taining no implements so far as we could discover. At 
one end of this hearth, and almost exactly in the center 
of the mound, was a pile of limestone boulders, about 3ft. 
square and somewhat calcined on the side toward the 
hearth. Beneath these boulders was a deep cleft in the 
solid rock, such a crack as often occurs in these limestone 
cliffs. This we cleared of the earth and boulders which 
filled it, as far as we could reach, but found nothing. This 
was the whole result of all our hard work, and seemed to 
us at the time rather small; but now I am not so sure of 
that. Here was a site extremely unusual in character and 
surroundings, and exceptionally conspicuous. A great 
amount of labor was expended in leveling the surface 
and preparing the hearth, and the fire kindled there was 
visible for many miles around. Then came the very great 
task of carrying the clay from a considerable distance, 
and erecting the mound. All these things show that the 
fire was of extraordinary importance, and the accumula- 
tion of human bones mingled with the covering of boul- 
ders seems to indicate that the spot possessed some great 
interest, sacred or historical. Now, what was the purpose 
of the fire? Was it sacrificial or funereal, and are the 
bones among the boulders contemporaneous with the 
mound, or subsequent to it? I don't know, and I wish 
some one who does would tell me. 
A. St. J. Newberry. 
The Old Back Lane. 
A long time ago, when a boy, I thought I would look 
up a place to go berrying where I had not yet been. That 
was how I found the old back lane. To my boyish eyes 
the lonely path, the sunny back meadows and the roaring 
brook had all the charms of a new country. It was a 
sunny morning that I first climbed the hill with pail in 
hand. The fish in the brook claimed my attention; my 
young heart was filled with awe among the cool, silent 
pines, the limbs arching over the lane, through which 
streamed the radiant sun. 
Many the happy days spent there alone or with friends. 
Never was there a place where berries grew go plenty and 
large, and flowers, wild grapes, apples and nuts so profuse, 
besides lots of small game in the woods, and fish and ducks 
in the creek. How the bobolinks did sing in that meadow, 
and robins and thrushes and chewinks in the pasture. 
Bluejays and crows were everywhere. I knew where a 
partridge might be found anywhere in season. 
Thousands of miles away, on the sandy plains, have I 
thought of the cool waters and shady woods of the old 
back lane, and been thankful for the memory of those 
days. 
The other day a friend and I took a walk there, and we 
found a saw-mill at the entrance of the lane, and a big 
stack of boards, and a little distance further we found 
our loved pines laid low. Never, it seemed to me, had I 
loved thorn so well as now they were gone — not even when 
I had climbed them and been rocked by the breeze in their 
branches, or had lain in their cool shade and watched the 
hawks sailing in the blue heaven, 0. Fred Netjbert. 
Devotion of a Chimney Swift Mother. 
When a boy, I often watched the chimney swifts, a 
dozen at a time, with closed wings and a wabbling motion, 
drop into our unused chimney for the night. In this same 
chimney, which first drew my attention to the birds, I 
once saw a beautiful thing — a tender side of bird nature. 
Once, some month or more after all these little birds 
had taken their flight to more sunny climes, I heard a 
familiar twitter in the chimney, and taking out the old- 
fashioned fireboard found a full-grown bird lying upon 
the hearth. Looking more closely I discovered that he 
was fastened to the nest, which by his weight had fallen 
from its attachment up the chimney. The fellow seemed 
to be assured of my friendliness toward him, for he laid 
very still and quiet while I examined the case. I found 
that he was fastened by a strong hair from a horse's mane 
or tail, which, wrapped over his leg, bound him fast to 
the nest. His anxious mother, who had cast in her lot 
with him to remain and die too with him, for the time of 
insects was about gone, came into the chimney and actu- 
ally waited beside me while I snipped the strong hair 
and released him. It was an hour or more before he got 
the use of his leg and learned what his mother was teach- 
ing him by flying up and down in the chimney, and then 
they both started on their lonesome flight to the far south. 
I have often wondered at this mother's generous devo- 
tion, for instinct would teach her that she must die with 
him if Bhe staid, and yet she had apparently made up her 
mind to just that. B. B. S, 
Marietta, O. 
Bird Calls of the Night. 
Watertown, N. Y., Sept. 5. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
The migratory flight of birds is now heavy in northern 
sections, and I would like to ask readers of Forest and 
Stream if they have success in identifying the species by 
the call note that is nightly heard? Some of the voices 
remind one of the bobolink, and other clear whistling 
notes seem rightly to belong to the oriole, but it is difficult 
to imagine these species as abundant as would be thus 
indicated. Nearly all the voices, however, seem puzzling, 
Are these notes heard peculiar to the migratory flight? 
J. Quay. 
[Many notes of night-flying migrants are to be heard at 
this season, but it is by no means easy to identify species 
by their calls. We should doubt that the whistle came 
from the oriole. More likely from some plover or sand- 
piper, fhe note of the bobolink is unmistakable, how- 
ever. } 
mt[e J?ag mfd (§m. 
HUNTING AFTER SIWASHES. 
At the second crossing of the Columbia by the Cana- 
dian Pacific R. R. in British Columbia is the mining town 
of Revelstoke. From here I started the last of October 
for Griffin Lake for a caribou hunting bout with Charlie 
Hathaway, in the Gold Ranges, near the divide of water 
five miles up the trail from Three Valley Lake on the C. 
P. R. in the Eagle Pass. 
Charlie, who is a trained, plucky hunter and trapper, as 
well as an experienced "rustler of the mountains" for me- 
talliferous deposits, had built a shack here two years' ago, 
and jn company with Tom Jones had hunted, trapped and 
prospected the country pretty thoroughly, but did not 
succeed in finding much smelter food in that section. 
When we reached camp we expected to find there a 
small axe, which had been left last season, but it could 
not be found. Charlie said, "No one but Siwashes would 
take it away." We easily stripped off the thick, dry 
bark of large dead fir trees, which makes a hot and last- 
ing fire. 
Charlie said, "You rustle for fish while I fix up the 
camp and cook a bannock." In about half an hour I 
came in with ten mountain trout, ranging from 4 to 7in. 
long. I was greeted with a cheerful fire in the stone fire-, 
place, a bannock just browning in the skillet and water 
boiling in the ppt. Soon some slices of spiced bacon took 
the place of the bannock, and when this was fried and 
the tea was steeped we partook of a much needed early 
supper. Then I went out for a lot of fresh spruce "feath- 
ers" for our bunk. On returning I found the old damp 
and musty chips and dirt cleaned out of the shack, the 
dishes washed and the fish dressed for breakfast. Our 
raised framework bunk was made up, the household goods 
were put in place, and retiring early we talked over plans 
for the morning hunt, and soon lulled by the murmur of 
the creek, 
"Slept until the dawning beam 
Purpled the mountain and the stream." 
Early next morning we started up the mountain on the 
north side of the creek, accompanied by Charlie's well- 
trained dog Prince, to try our luck at stopping something 
with horns. 
On the way up the runway Charlie explained that cari- . 
bou seldom traveled faster than a trot unless badly fright- 
ened, but a man following their track might so far with- 
out finding them, especially if it was the single track of a 
buck, which "roams" at this time of the year. 
We had gone about quarter way up the mountain and 
I was lagging behind, when I suddenly heard a rustling. 
Charlie bleated like a doe or fawn, and looking up I saw 
him point his Winchester up the mountain, and then 
shifting it lower down he fired, and then sent another 
shot to the right down the slope of the ridge, when the 
dog started on the run and could not be stopped. 
Coming up to Charlie on the ridge of the cross runway 
I did not have to wait long for the member from Griffin 
Lake to open his speech. "Well! I'll be taxed if I ever 
saw anything like that before! Nothing but a Siwash dog 
could have sent that buck and doe along as though the 
devil had kicked them! I just saw two narrow streaks of 
dark gray lightning through the openings, about 150yds. 
away, and was so surprised I missed them both. Well, 
the jig's up for this side of the mountain to-day." 
Returning to camp and taking an early dinner we 
started for the mountain on the south side of the creek, 
and when part way up a runway saw fresh tracks of both 
deer and caribou, and Charlie pointed out the bones of a 
buck he had shot last year that struck his trail from a 
cross runway and followed up behind him, coming into 
sight about 60yds. away. It was a "soft snap" for a man 
with a Winchester, and the only time Charlie had been 
hunted by a caribou instead of being the hunter. 
We followed on up the runway, which was laid out by 
caribou and deer generations ago, and the course could 
not be improved on to-day. The genius that attempts to 
find a better path up the mountain than that engineered 
by the old-time caribou, will travel on a road to disap- 
pointment. 
There were plenty of swamp and spruce partridges and 
fool hens about, as well as numbers of large, fat red squir- 
rels; but no big game appeared. So on coming back I 
ventured to break silence by shooting what proved to be 
a mountain harrier, with wide wings spreading over three 
feet from tip to tip. 
The next day we tried again on another runway, and 
found moccasin tracks, but no horned game. The line on 
climbing I drew at timber limit, and followed down an- 
other runway; but Charlie went clear over the mountain, 
and met Ben Green, who was trapping five miles up the 
trail from our camp. Ben said the Indians had been 
hunting and drying their meat in that section for the past 
ten days, and that their system of hunting with dogs had 
driven the game to the other side of the mountain, or had 
frightened it so that it only traveled nights. 
Charlie arrived in camp about 3 P. M. , having traveled 
"up hill and down dale" about eighteen miles since 7 A. 
M. , and it required several platef uls of broiled venison 
sirloin, that Ben had kindly given him a section of, to get 
him into good nature and cause him to open his mouth. 
Next morning was rainy, and as we were enjoying our 
venison and bannock, I suggested that cranberry sauce 
would be a lucky accompaniment. "You shall have it," 
said Charlie; "this hotel has to keep up its reputation for 
providing all the delicacies of the season." 
After breakfast we went about a mile and a half to a 
swamp where there were usually an abundance of low- 
vine cranberries, but even here the wearers of moccasins 
had preceded us and gathered them in. We put nearly a 
pint in a small bag, and they made a very nice sauce. 
Another venture in the game lottery up the mountain 
resulted in drawing a blank, and it looked as though we 
were not likely to augment our larder with caribou steak. 
Another rainy morning, and Charlie proposed that as 
the woods were very wet it would be well for me to stay 
and keep camp, catch fish and cook a bannock, while he 
tried his luck again. This programme was carried out, 
and about 3 o'clock the dog came into camp, soon after 
followed by Charlie, staggering under the weight of the 
hindquarters and skin of a caribou. He was greeted with 
a "Hurrah! Good boy! How many got away?" 
While discussing a hot dinner, details of the hunt were 
listened to attentively. Near the top of the mountain a 
