482 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 15, 18fc5. 
IP? Bpwimtm ^onmL 
IN PENNSYLVANIA FORESTS. 
Althutjgh the old Keystone is one among the oldest 
States in the Union, yet it is lees than two score years 
since a portion of the unsettled part of the State was 
mostly an unsettled region. The elk remained there up 
to a later date than in other of the Middle or Northern 
States, except perhaps that a very few might have been 
left on Cass River, in Michigan. It was supposed that 
this elk disappeared in both of those regions at nearly or 
about the same time — which, if my memory is correct, 
■was in the early fifties. 
In those days, while living in New York and near the 
Pennsylvania line, I frequently made long trips, tramp- 
ing and camping in those extensive forest lands. It did 
not offend nor move me in the least that my friends often 
pronounced me an inveterate woods crank. 
It was on one of my forest rambles in Elk county, in 
the latter part of the month of August, that I brought up 
at the cabin of an old German by the name of Keeffer, 
who was then living on the old State road, near the head- 
waters of the Little Toby, one of the northern tributaries 
of the Clarion River. This road was made by appropria- 
tion from the State at a very early date, beginning some- 
where in the vicinity of Ridgeway and running a north- 
ern course through the wilderness to the northern 
boundary line of the State. There had been but little 
travel on the road up to the time of which I write, and 
the settlers were few and far between. Mr. Keeffer said 
that his nearest neighbors were from four to eight miles 
distant. Mr. Keeffer and his wife pleased me much with 
their genuine social and pleasant way, which won my 
respect at once. The conversation and general appear- 
ance of the old couple showed too plainly that they had 
not always lived in that isolated region, and so I frankly 
told the old man that I was curious to know the cause of 
their isolation and he just as frankly told me. He came 
from Pittsburg, where he had kept a hotel for several 
years; he had suffered heavy losses in some business 
enterprise, had been done up once by sharpers and had 
become so disgusted with business and men^that he had 
stepped down and out, barely saving a 'small bank 
account, which he thought with strict economy might 
serve to keep the wolf from the door during their natural 
lives. Moreovet they had enjoyed much better health 
since they came there. 
I had often heard reports of the old man Rowley, the 
hunter, hermit and wolf trapper of Elk county, and L 
inquired of Mr. K. if he knew the man. He said yes, he 
knew him well, and if I would stay another day I might 
see the old hermit, as he had previously promised to stop 
there on that day while on some business trip to Ridge- 
way. 
Mr. K. further stated that his first appearance in that 
region had been some eight years before, and that he had 
been camping, summer and winter, in different places, 
mostly on the headwaters of the Clarion: but during the 
last two years had located his camp oyer on the Sweet- 
water, another one of the numerous branches of the 
Clarion. 
The man arrived the next day, as predicted, and I was 
introduced by Mr. K. as one of the craft and was greeted 
with a cordial reception. His appearance indicated that 
he was about sixty years of age. As he stood tall, lank 
and lean, he seemed a fairly good representation of 
Cooper's "Leather Stocking," as shown in the Pioneers, 
He said that he could stop only an hour or so and was 
sorry that his business called him away just then. He 
was a good talker and communicative, and I flooded him 
with questions. He mentioned the scarcity of wolves 
and the scant bounty allowed by the State, also the 
plentifulness of deer and bears, and the very near ex- 
tinction of elk in that State. 
I had mapped out in my mind a circuitous route east- 
ward from this place toward the Divide. This I men- 
tioned to Mr. Rowley, to which he replied that I couldn't 
do better than to take the trail to his camp, which was 
situated nearly on a direct line toward the Divide, that I 
would need a halt and a rest by the time I arrived,, and 
although he would be away the latchstring of his cabin 
door was out, and I might find something in the way of 
a lunch if needed. At the end of the hour the old man 
gave me a hearty handshake and started off on a gait 
that if kept up would soon leave a common walker far in 
the rear. 
It was early on the following morning when I started 
and soon struck the trail as directed, which led through a 
region that was rough and smooth, but principally rough 
—a description that would apply to a large portion off 
that country. It was a plain trail and a long one, and I 
followed it to the end, where I found the camp located in 
a little nook up near the head of the Sweetwater. It 
seemed to be well protected from the northern winter- 
blasts and somewhat protected from the rays of a July 
sun. However, there was a small spot cleared and open; 
to the sunshine, where was a very small patch of pota- 
toes, turnips, cucumbers, etc. The cabin was a small 
8x10 affair, built of birch poles and covered with split 
slabs. The door was made of split slabs and had no latch- 
string, but was hung so as to swing outward and a small 
stick was set up against it to keep it shut. The insidei 
wall was mostly lined with dried deer skin& in the red! 
coat, a small fireplace without a chimney, in place of 
which were hung on pegs large strips of 'dried venison, 
and in one corner were three or four wolf traps hanging 
on pegs, and on a slab table lay a large pocket compass; 
having set-up sights. 
And this was the residence and temporary home of the; 
recluse hunter and trapper of Elk county, Pa. 
Doubtless solitude has its charms, thougb comparatively 
few they are who find them. Selkirk didn't seem to find! 
them during his solitary abode on the island, although, 
he inquired where they were, 
Probably those old sages which he mentions were dif- 
ferently constituted and differently circumstanced. 
I had made the halt and taken the rest as the old man 
had directed; had sampled his dried venison, eaten a 
green cucumber, drank a long and deep draught of the 
sweet water and started, on a southeasterly course, over 
the mountain. 
That night I camped on the western rim of the Divide, 
and under the shelter of a shelving rock, where I was 
awakened the next morning by the distant but well- 
known trumpet-like call of a bull elk. He might have 
been a mile or possibly two miles distant, as that particu- 
lar sound can be heard a long way on a clear, still morn- 
ing. 
It was big game, but I made no effort to find it, as the 
killing of an elk when there was no possible chance of 
saving the meat was not to be thought of. Moreover, I 
did not crave the credit of shooting the iast or one of the 
last elk left in the State; for I believed then, and have 
had good reason to believe since, that there were less than 
a half dozen wild elk in the State at that time. During 
the following winter one doe elk was captured alive, and 
another one was killed, and if old Rowley could have 
been interviewed most likely it would have settled the 
question what became of the last remaining elk. 
That morning I started on a southerly course which led 
over a rough and broken but heavily timbered country, 
interspersed, as usual, with any amount of hemlock. I 
believe there were, and are yet, more hemlock trees, 
bigger laurel thickets and more of theji in Pennsylvania 
than in any other State. 
It was chronicled in the long-ago Crayon papers that 
Mr. Buttcut fell through some of the laurel thickets while 
on a fishing excursion to the Black -Water. Now, some 
of those thickets which I encountered here were so dense 
that I could neither walk, crawl nor fall through, conse- 
quently I made long detours to get around them. Deer 
tracks were more than plenty, and white flags were seen 
often; and once, while I sat on a log for a short rest, I 
saw a large doe get up very deliberately from her bed 
about thirty feet distant and start off down the hill. 
Did I shoot? No. Nothing short of prospective star- 
vation would justify a man in shooting a deer where he 
would 'have to leave four-fifths of the meat for wolves 
and wild cats to devour. 
After traveling zig-zag courses for a long distance, I 
came into more open woods, where the Divide seemed to 
slope off on a gentle descent for several miles, ending in a 
great sag or basin, where also ended that day's tramp. 
Here was a small trout brook, a crooked little stream, 
which seemed to be running in nearly every direction, 
and I could not determine whether it was a feeder to one 
of the upper branches of the Clarion or a tributary branch 
of the Susquehanna. It was a cosy little camping place, 
and so remote, with not a blazed tree, nor old camp-fire 
brands, nor a lopped bush , nor any indications that any 
hunter or fisherman had ever raided that little trout 
brook. That night, as I lay on a bed of hemlock, I rather 
flattered myself that I had made my little camp fire about 
as far toward the center of the Big Woods as possible, so 
I decided to stop over during the next day and night. I 
outlined a programme in my mind for the next day, 
which was about as follows: First, I would breakfast on 
some of those brook trout, then make a leisurely circuit 
around the basin in order to learn how much territory it 
contained. As a matter of course, I would shoot some 
young partridges to broil for supper, as the woods were 
full of them. While this programme was running 
through my head I dropped off into the land of dreams, 
to be awakened in the morning by one of the most unex- 
pected sounds that could be thought of. It was not the 
howl of the wolf, nor the scream of a panther. Sad to 
relate, it was the crowing of a rooster. The sound came 
from some distance to the eastward, but it was too plain 
to be mistaken. I never learned how that rooster came 
there, because I didn't go there, but I supposed that some 
adventurous pioneer or hunter had pushed his way up 
from the driftwood branch of the Susquehanna, Any- 
how, my exploring ardor had dropped down to a low 
ebb, and instead of staying over another day and night, 
as I had intended, I started on a westerly course over the 
mountain. 
Now, the ordinary incidents attending the remainder of 
that trip, arc they not written in memory which may 
appear on paper in the near future, or may not. 
. _ ■ . _ Antler. 
JUNGLE LIFE IN SUMATRA. 
I understand that a prominent New York newspaper 
has recently sent out a party, under competent scientific 
leadership, to explore the wilds of Sumatra. I commend 
the enterprise and predict very interesting results. A two 
years' sojourn in the jungles of that island introduced me 
to some of the strangest sights and most novel experi- 
ences of my life. In no other place have I ever found col- 
lected together so many odd and eccentric species of bird , 
beast and tree. Sumatra is a veritable dime museum of 
nature. 
I had not been long on the island before I became 
deeply interested in the study of the picturesque flora and 
fauna in which it abounds. When it became known to 
the coolies that I was ready to purchase curious animals 
and plants, 1 was soon barricaded with an assortment of 
wild creatures, winged, legged and legless, of all sorts, 
shapes and sizes. Unfortunately, however, these coolies 
were not quite posted on the requirements of the market, 
and it took me some time to convince them that maimed 
monkeys, mashed lizards and broken-legged spiders were 
not what I wanted. 
One of my earliest acquisitions was a sun bear, truly the 
drollest creature of its kind I ever had anything to do 
with. He was not directly from his native wilds, but had 
beencaptured when a small cub. "Jock," as he was called, 
was now about a year old. He measured 3ft. in length 
and some 20in. in height. Jock was one of nature's 
mountebanks. Wholly untaught, he could perform tricks 
that if told would stagger human credulity. It was no 
effort for him to assume the bipedal attitude, indeed he 
preferred it, and spent the greater part of his time strol- 
ling about with a rolling lurching gait that resembled in 
a most laughable degree a jolly little mariner in an over- 
coat of black fur, with rather more liquor aboard than be 
could steadily carry. 
One of his favorite toys was a wooden sphere a trifle 
smaller than a Rugby football, and with this he would 
perform a series of feats that were truly astonishing. 
After a few preliminary movements, Jock would stand on 
his head for several minutes, the ball neatly balanced on 
his extended hindfeet. When this was accomplished to 
his satisfaction, he would proceed to something more diffi- 
cult; usually it was to climb onto the veranda rail, only 
about two inches wide, and there balance himself on his 
back, and keep the ball rolling backward and forward 
between his extended paws. The wind-up of his ball feats 
was invariably this: He would clasp the sphere in both 
arms and slowly turn somersault after somersault along 
the entire length of the veranda. Then away would fly 
the ball into a corner, and seizing an old cane, Jock would 
go through a series of evolutions calculated to turn the 
cleverest drum major green with envy. 
Jock's inquisitive nature often led him into mischief. 
He destroyed many valuable articles during my ownership 
of him, and when one night he suddenly disappeared I 
can't say that I felt very sorry. 
Among the curious animals brought me by the coolies 
was a kukang (Loris tardigradus). This was a thick-set 
creature about the size of a small cat. It was brown in 
color, had a fox -like head, and used its paws after the 
manner of a monkey. But its eyes are the most remark- 
able feature about the kukang; large yellow circular orbs, 
whose unwinking glare is believed by many natives to 
possess something of the power of the fabled basilisk. For 
this reason the Javanese dread the kukang and avoid its 
gaze, which they claim will bring sure disaster. It is noc- 
turnal in its habits, and its natural prey is small birds and 
insects. 
Of the numerous kinds of monkeys to be found in these 
jungles, it would require many columns to give an ade- 
quate description. The commonest species is the black 
macaque, but almost as plentiful is the pig-tailed macaque. 
This monkey is about the size of a bull-terrier, and at a 
little distance might easily be taken for one. It is thought 
to be the most artful and intelligent of the monkey tribe, 
and is frequently trained by the Malays to gather cocoa- 
nuts and durians. 
Speaking of monkeys, I witnessed a rather comical in- 
cident one time, and this incidentally will bring another 
odd denizen of these parts into my story, viz. , the horn- 
bill. One morning, hearing the greatest sort of a hubbub 
back of my bungalow, I rushed out to see what the mat- 
ter was, On reaching the spot I found a crowd of coolies 
looking up into a lofty tree, in the branches of which 
about two dozen black macaque monkeys were leaping 
about in great excitement. A little way down the trunk 
was a single monkey, who appeared to be in some mys- 
terious manner fixed to the tree. The unfortunate crea- 
ture was uttering the most doleful cries, and his com- 
panions above were screaming uproariously in sympathy. 
It appeared that the prisoner had espied a tempting cavity 
in the tree, which he guessed to contain eggs or nestlings, 
and into this he had thrust a burglarious paw. Unluck- 
ily for him, Lady Hornbill was at home, and she under- 
took to detain the burglar until her lord should arrive. 
This latter occurred shortly after I got there. Taking 
in the situation at a glance, the outraged husband swooped 
down upon the culprit, seized him by the hindleg in his 
huge mandibles, gave a vicious tug, and then, letting go 
at the proper moment, sent the unfortunate monkey hurt- 
ling to the ground, where he lay stunned by the fall. 
A moment later a Chinaman, on monkey stew intent, 
rushed up to the prostrate animal and seized him, where- 
upon he suddenly came to and fastened his teeth in the 
leg of his captor, who instantly dropped everything and 
busied himself adding yells to the pandemonium already 
in progress. As for the hornbill, he stood guard outside 
his nest until the uproar had subsided, and then quietly 
retired. 
The commonest species of hornbill is the "rhinoceros 
bird," so called, I presume, from its habit of alighting on 
the back of the rhinoceros in search of parasites. This 
uncouth creature is about the size of a small turkey, but 
has a beak 1ft. long, and where it joins the skull 2iin. 
deep. Over this is another beak reversed, forming a sort 
of casque or helmet. In this species both beak and helmet, 
though strong, are thin and hollow, but in the "great 
hornbill," a bird equally large, they are of solid bone, 
hard as ivory, and shaped something like a miner's pick. 
The Malay name for the great hornbill is "tebang men- 
tuah" (feller of mother-in-law). To account for this ex- 
traordinary appellation we must look to the following 
legend: A man who had a grudge against that niuch- 
abused relative went one night to her house and chopped 
down the piles which supported it, causing it to fall and 
kill her. Seeing this he stood off and laughed, whereupon 
he was instantly changed into this bird, and to this day 
you may hear him repeating the "chop, chop," followed 
by his impious laughter. 
How these people do weave their superstitious fancies 
around the simplest facts. Watching the great hornbill 
I have seen it alight on a lofty tree, strike several re- 
sounding blows against the trunk with its bony helmet, 
and then burst into a shout of wierd laughter. Presently 
the sound would be repeated in the distance and in a 
minute or two the mate wo.uld sail slowly along and pitch 
on the same tree. 
Snakes of all sorts abound in these jungles, also lizards. 
Monitor lizards there are measuring 6 and 7ft. in length. 
Then again there is the "chichak" or house lizard. This 
little reptile, which is about 1ft. long, lets the householder 
know of his presence by emitting a series of "yap! yaps" 
not unlike the short snappy bark of the toy terrier. 1 re- 
member once being awakened by one which somehow had 
gotten into my bedchamber. Striking a light I en- 
deavored to locate the little scamp. He evaded my 
search a long time, however, owing to a peculiar quality 
of his voice, which he seems to throw about with all the 
ease of a born ventriloquist. And indeed that is precisely 
what the chichak is. 
Among the peculiar insects to be seen here are the car- 
penter bee and the mason wasp. The former, about 
double the size of our bumble-bee and jet black, will bore 
as neat a hole through a wooden upright as a yachtsman 
could wish to reeve a rope through, while the latter con- 
structs strong clay storehouses on the trunks of trees, 
stocks them with preserved spiders and seals them up, 
afterward so tinting and streaking the finished structure 
that it is impossible to distinguish it from a knot in the 
bark. It is a pity to spoil so pretty a story of natural in- 
stinct, but the truth is that this wasp is often known to 
build in precisely the same manner on a whitewashed 
wall, not omitting the exterior decorations, which, in this 
case of course, only serve to point out the more con- 
spicuously the handiwork nature originally taught it so 
cunningly to conceal. 
Besides the scorpion, the centipede and the tarantula, 
that delightful trio, there is an enormous spider fre- 
quently to be found here. It is a black spider, three 
inches long in body and with a stride of legs that could 
almost cover a dinner plate. Quite accidentally one day 
I walked underneath the web of one of these spiders and 
my light pith hat coming against it was knocked clean ui\' 
my head. I have seen the web of one of these spiders 
extended between trees eighteen yards apart, and braced 
by a system of guys and stays that for economy and 
