408 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 25, 1865. 
1(£ j§fwtkttiitn Woiimi. 
NOTES FROM CAMP NESSMUK. 
II.— House-Building. 
Ordinarily a hollow makes a poor camp ground, for 
currents of cold air sweep down it at night, on the same 
principle that water runs down bill. Spook Hollow ran 
from north to south, with a steep and heavily-timbered 
ridge closing it on the south. The sides were precipitous 
hills rising two or three hundred feet, with ledges of ex- 
posed rock about half way up, which were honey-combed 
with crannies and fox dens. The sun was not visible from 
my camp until 9 A. M., and retired from the hollow 
promptly at 5 P. M., leaving little or no twilight. In an 
average season such a place would be damp, and in case of 
a hard rain might be unpleasant. But last year was an 
uncommonly dry one with us, and. it was the drought that 
settled my choice of a camp site — that and the diabolical 
protection previously alluded to. For there was only one 
spring in the neighborhood that had not run dry— Pom- 
pernickle Spring, as Barnes had named it in one of his 
inspired moods, and any one who knows Mincke will for- 
give me for not wanting to carry water up those hills. 
Probably there is not another spot on earth within 
twenty miles of a city of half a million inhabitants that is 
quite so wild as Mincke. From the crest of the ridge 
southeast of Camp Nessmuk one can look for miles and 
miles and see nothing but sharp ridges densely covered 
with scrubby oaks and hickories, steep hollows gloomy 
with a richer vegetation, bare ledges, and occasionally 
a glade from which peeps a negro cabin. Animal life is 
not very abundant, but there are coons and possums, 
skunks and foxes, squirrels, woodchucks, hawks, buzzards, 
owls, doves and lesser creatures of earth or air, with occa- 
sionally a flock of wild turkeys. Eeptilian life is fairly 
abundant. Venomous snakes are rather scarce, but scor- 
pions, tarantulas and centipedes may be 
found almost any day under flat stones, 
and nimble little lizards are darting every- 
where. Song birds are not plentiful, and 
their absence adds to the true wilderness 
effect of Mincke. The wild hog, that 
pest of the Missouri woods, is also absent; 
but O the chigres! My friend, take my 
advice, and keep out of the Mincke grass 
in summer. The first frost drives these 
microscopic fiends into winter quarters. 
Within a few rods of Pompernickle I 
cleared some high ground of roots and 
stones, got out the double-bitted hatchet, 
and proceeded to erect the framework of 
my house. Except for the abundance of 
provisions, a two weeks' supply, the outfit 
for this camp was mostly copied from 
"Nessmuk's" ♦'Woodcraft." There are 
many who smile at the idea of learning 
anything about woodcraft from books, 
and their scorn is, in a measure, justified 
by the fact that most works on the art of 
camping are disappointing. Englishmen 
are the greatest sinners in this respect, 
and there is one work in particular that 
will afford you many a chuckle — a pon- 
derous octavo entitled "Shifts and Ex- 
pedients of Camp Life," which tells you 
how to explore a bit of wild country with 
the aid of a company of servants and a 
baggage train inproportion. But there 
are books and books. It would b9 hard 
to name a subject that has not at least 
its one good book, which will save the 
beginner many a tedious failure, and can 
even teach the old-timer something that 
he did not know before. Of such is 
"Woodcraft." 
"Nessmuk" wrote, of course, with a particular locality 
in mind— the Northeastern wilderness, with its waterways 
and balsams— and some of his advice would be of slight 
value in Southern swamps or on Western plains in the 
Rockies or among the wastes "of the Far North.' More- 
over, he wrote for the lone camper, who goes, as a wise 
man, light. And let it be said right here that any one 
can camp with a wagon, but that the man who can carry 
on his own back all that he requires for a sojourn in the 
wilderness is a scholar and a king by comparison "Ness- 
muk" was past master of the craft, and I am proud to 
acknowledge that, after doing my fair share of experi- 
menting, I have found most of his wrinkles to be the very 
best for the service they are intended to perform 
My shanty tent had seen service before. It was a trifle 
larger than "Nesmuk's," as the drilling was 3in. wider 
than his, and it had a front door, the roof beiug contin- 
ued to form a flap that can be tacked down in front thus 
leaving the outat securely housed from tempest and ver- 
min during its owner's absence. The flap was never 
closed at night when the tent was occupied, for a shanty 
tent is intended to let in pure air and the glow of a well- 
built camp fire. The flap thrown back over the roof gives 
additional protection against rain and sparks. The lime- 
and-alum process of waterproofing was tried with some 
misgivings when the tent was made, misgivings which 
were justified on first trial, and I came back from that 
expedition resolved to find something better than oxide of 
alumina to keep me dry. Nobody but a sportsman and a 
brother would excuse the trouble I took to solve that 
problem. A tent of thin drilling, with a shed roof 
pitched at a moderate angle, is no easy thing to waterproof 
Kubber solution or boiled oil will do it after a fashion,' 
but they are heavy, and either rot or crack, or develop 
some other bad trick. The process finally adopted was 
original and gave complete satisfaction, rendering the 
tent permanently waterproof and mildew proof, so that 
moist earth from the drain trench may be heaped against 
the lower edge without rotting the fiber. But it is some- 
what dangerous to apply, as it obliges one to use a very 
inflammable liquid raised about to its boiling point. I 
hope to overcome this objection, and so will say no more 
about the process at present. 
The shanty tent has one disadvantage: it is hard to set 
up in some localities. To cut posts, poles, head and foot 
logs, is easy when saplings are near, but to measure and 
shape them, drive the posts to exactly the same depth, 
and allow for the thickness of roof poles— this takes time, 
especially when you are working in stony ground. Of 
course it can be set up quickly by the one-pole method 
but then it is no longer a shanty tent, and makes rather 
cramped quarters. For trips in which camp must be 
struck and made anew every day, an ordinary wagon 
sheet or square of waterproofed drilling is tent enough 
for anybody to bother with. But when spending a week 
or so in one place, in the woods, the shanty tent is the 
most comfortable and healthful abode that I ever tried. 
Mine has sheltered three. The tent, blanket and rubber 
poncho 4X 6ft., together weigh less than the sheepskin- 
and-canvas sleeping bags so much recommended for cold 
weather, and instead of a mere cocoon they afford a home 
where courtesies can be extended to a brother wanderer. 
My camp ground being in the Ozark region, it goes 
without saying that there was plenty of flint and no 
browse. Alas, no browse! The drought had been so se- 
vere that the fallen leaves and twigs were dangerously in- 
flammable, so I swept the ground carefully, cleared away 
the stones, smoothed the floor, dug hollows for hips and 
shoulders, raised a little mound of earth to supplement 
the diminutive pillow, and spread ihe poncho on the bare 
earth. Then came the army blanket, converted into a 
bag of double thickness by lapping it and securing the 
free side with strong safety pins. The pillow came next; 
and that was all there was to the bed making. 
As the hollow was likely to prove a cold and draughty 
placi to camp in, with only a fold of blanket between me 
and the bare ground, there was need of a good fireplace 
and plenty of night wood. Fortunately there was an axe 
in camp. In describing how to build a camp-fire, "Ness- 
muk" relates with gusto how he and a companion felled 
a 10 in. butternut with their hatchets and logged it up. 
The thing can be done by one man if necessary. The 
double-bitted hatchet, when made of surgical instrument 
steel, is indeed a marvel. It will bite deeper and hold an 
edge longer than any one would believe who has not. 
handled the cunning little tool. But when backlogs are 
to be cut, most of us would prefer more weight and a full 
length halve. 
The art of building a camp-fire has been expounded so 
It was late when I lugged the last stick to camp and 
stood my axe up against a tree. Shadows had fallen in 
Spook Hollow, and with them came a chill. The fun of 
outdoor life vanished with the sun. Night brought cold, 
dampness, loneliness, mystery, strange sounds and stranger 
silences. 
Then came the miracle. 
A match was struck. Up went a little puff of smoke, 
then a tongue of flame, presently a blaze. The phantoms 
vanished. There was light, warmth, cheer — the glorious 
comradry of fire. 
The bark quickly burned to coals. I fried some ham, 
boiled coffee, and got out the bread and butter. It was 
a simple meal, but I lingered over it like a gourmet. 
What an appetite the woods life gives one! 
Now to slick up. Dish washing is a nuisance, but even 
scullionry may be reduced to an art. The art is this: 
Throw away nearly a' 1 your dishes and keep the rest of 
them clean. A frying-pan, quart pail, hunting knife and 
spoon were all the utensils that figured at this meal, and 
the spoon was a superfluity— you can whittle out just as 
good a one in two minutes, and can throw it away when 
done with it. This latter attribute places the wooden 
spoon at the very head of camp luxuries. 
I put a dry stick or two over the dogs, got them going 
and topped them off with a couple of green hickories. 
Then out came the calumet. It was a seasoned Missouri 
meerschaum, that is to say, a cob — best and sweetest of 
pipes, unbreakable, light and suggestively bucolic. Lolling 
back on the blanket, w'th the bright warmth flooding the 
tent, I worshipped the fire like any Parsee of old. Flames 
leaped up the backlogs and scales of bark burst away in 
miniature bombardments. The sap boiled out of the 
wood and sang merrily as it changed to steam. Now 
and then a sweet tremulo would come from some night 
bird in the dark thicket. The owls set up their screech- 
ing and faint rustlings in the leaves told of sharp eyes 
reconnoitering from the ledges above. I was alone with 
my fire and the gnomes of the woods. Fancy began to 
play. Time rolled back. Blessed be the magic that makes 
us boys again! Jolly old friends clustered 
round, each in his j oiliest mood. We 
reviewed it all: the pranks and follies, the 
struggles and rebuffs, the fierce joys of 
peril by land and sea. 
The pipe went out. I turned in. The 
fire died down until the little tent showed 
only a ghostly outline against the sur- 
rounding blackness. If some belated 
Mincke nigger, plodding homeward atong 
the crest of the ridge, caught a glimpse 
of Camp Nessmuk through the trees, it is 
small wonder if he broke into a run and 
panted to himself, " 'Fo' God, I shuah done 
seed de ha'nt! ' Horace Kephart. 
CAMP NESSMUK. 
Hink\ October, 1894. 
well in "Woodcraft" that you would think nobody could* 
blunder in it Yet I have known two college graduates 
to follow the directions religiously, and, misled by the 
woodcut in the little volume, plant their logs 9ft. in front 
of the tent. The fire was all right, but somehow those 
campers nearly froze. So it may not be out of place to 
give a few details, for every season a swarm of city boys 
makes for the woods who never spent a night in camp. 
My backlogs were cut to 6ft, lengths from a butternut 
12in. at the butt. The stakes were driven 5|ft. from the 
footlog of the tent. The fire dogs or hand junks were 
bedded 3^ft. apart, and I dug an oven 2£x2£x2ft. deep 
between them, letting it fill with ashes and embers for 
the morrow's baking. The forestick was matched to the 
dogs, which, together with the chinks between the back- 
logs, were plastered with mud. A small pile of dry splin- 
ters and bark from a dead oak would soon yield coals for 
cooking supper. 
The knack of fire-building consists, first, in selecting 
proper materials; second, in placing them bo that air can 
circulate freely beneath and through them; and third, in 
not heaping on too much fuel at a time. For a cooking 
fire nothing is better than the sound and perfectly dry 
bark from a *ree that has died on its stump. Moist or 
decayed stuff makes a smudge. For a quick meal, pluck 
a handful or so of dry twigs no thicker than your little 
finger from dead limbs or standing shoots. In winter, 
when all the boughs were wet, I have boiled water for 
tea with the dead stalks of weeds that stick up through 
the snow. A good camp cook will seldom smut the bot- 
tom of a kettle. 
For a reliable camp-fire you must have some kind of 
backing to reflect the heat forward, and the higher it is 
the better. A big boulder or ledge of rock makes capital 
backing, for it retains heat and does not require rebuild- 
ing; but be careful to avoid calcareous rock, as it may 
burst and knock your head off. Get as close to the fire 
as you can with safety. My forestick was only 3 ft. in 
front of the tent, the roof of which was entirely unpro- 
tected, but by selecting such wood as did not crackle 
much I burned only one small hole in the roof in two 
weeks. Softwood, or dry hard wood, makes poor fuel 
for the night, as it burns too fiercely, sends out showers 
of sparks and is soon spent. "Nessmuk" says: "The 
sweetest and wholesomest woods of the forest are in this 
order: black birch, hickory, sugar maple, yellow birch, 
red s birch" (I quote from memory). To which it may be 
added that some woods, like cedar, poplar and gum, will 
scarcely burn at all when green. 
THE MUSEUM CARIBOU. 
, EY "ST1LLABOY." 
"He! he! Doc'or. How you do? Me is 
here. Shake um nan'." 
This was Nuel's address as he walked 
into our little dining-room and sat himself 
at the table. 
"Why! is it you, Nuel? I am glad to 
see you." 
"Yee8, an' me'es glad too. You wan' 
um calleboo, I s'pose. Good time for dis 
if it done snow more 'fore we get camp." 
"Yes, I want a caribou— a good one. 
I want only a bull — a stag. And il you 
get me a good one I will give you the 
same as last year — half a crown every 
day while you hunt, and five more crowns 
if you get it with blankets and cloth for 
squaw, and I find the things to eat. Do 
you understand that, Nuel?" 
"Yees. Me glad. Me do it. Nice time 
w'en we eatum. Pancake an' coffee. He! he! Make 
, v um me feel good to t'ink of um." 
The following day found Nuel and myself going up 
stream, to what might be called the lower end of a bog. 
We expected to reach this in two days and commence 
our bunt at once. But this up stream was not so pleasant 
as I had anticipated. For some distance we were hardly 
above the banks, and that muddy part of the way. There 
was little or nothing to interest me. We saw plenty of 
muskrat holes along the stream. Several times we had to 
get out so as to keep the cance from chafing the bottom, 
and in only one place was required real steady poling. 
Of course there was little to be seen in the way of animal 
life and the region was extremely dreary. Above my 
head I saw several crows, two blue jays, a troop of chick- 
adees and one downy woodpecker. We heard two or 
three partridges as we passed upward, and a muskrat was 
seen under water as he made awake as he hurried toward 
his hole. It wa3 not until 2 o'clock that Nuel suggested: 
"Now, Doc'or, look out. P'raps partries fly. You shoot 
um if you can. Hard to shoot on canoe." 
But I could shoot, and two old cocks, a hen and a rab- 
bit — hare — when we camped, were handed over to the 
spoils. 
About 4 o'clock Nuel said, "Doc'or, dis good place for 
camp." 
"Why, what place is this, Nuel? You said there was 
no barn nor house here. What is it?" 
"Oh, only fool house. I tell you all 'bout it when we 
clean out skunk, if dey let us." 
The skunks let us. At least, we saw none around, nor 
was there anything offensive. But I noticed two holes 
under the foundation of the house, and close beside was a 
little pile of excrement. The small bones and wings ol 
beetles had not been washed away yet. Then I noticed 
several holeB by the floor that looked as though the place 
had been occupied quite recently. Nuel was very careful 
to block up these decaying places with stones, as the 
habitation appeared to be still occupied. 
The house had never been a good log one, and there 
were several places where the light could be seen 
through the shingles. Tnese shingles had been manu- 
factured here on the spot. 
But we must let Nuel tell the story. He commenced 
our meal: "Have blenty pancake. You want to know 
'bout de 'fool house.' Me tell um you. A Englis'man 
used to lib here two year ago. He goin' to do great t'ings; 
build house, big barn, cut down trees, make um wat he 
call clearin', an' in winter catch um skin." 
