SHt*T. 5, 1896.J 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
18S 
Katahdin, covered with enow, and the peaks of the sur- 
rounding mountains glistening in the sunlight. It re- 
minded me of my trip through the Swiss Mountains. 
While we were in the tent eating supper of dry bread 
and maple syrup, two hunters came by. Joe recognized 
them and they stopped for a chat, We told them of our 
need of grub, and one of them told us to come up to his 
tent in the morning and he would give ua some prorisions, 
enough to last until we reached the West Branch. After 
dark we paddled up the lake and there called for moose, 
but got no answer, although we could hear a large bull in 
the brush not far away. We called and called, but he 
would not come out; so in the early morning we left him 
and returned to camp. In the morning we paddled up to 
the point where we had called, and there we found the 
reason the moose would not come out of the brush. Right 
on the point, and near where we had called, lay the car- 
cass of a moose; the bull had scented it and of course 
would not approach. 
Joe went to our friends' camp and returned with a pail- 
ful of bread. We then started for the West Branch, but 
we knew it would take us two or three days to get there. 
It was a delightful run down the swift-flowing brook 
and over the rapids, but the water was very low, and after 
a couple of miles it got so shallow that I had to go ashore 
and walk while Joe poled, paddled and dragged the canoe 
over the rocks. As I was walking down the brook I saw 
a little doe cross the stream; she was enjoying herself. I 
did not molest her, and she trotted off into the woods. 
We stopped to camp at 4 o'clock, pitched tent and were 
soon ready for night. 
Sunday morning, Oct. SO, we started again down the 
stream. I took the road and walked, for the water had 
dropped a little. Joe had a hard time poling through the 
rocks and over the rapids. At 3 P. M. I reached a de- 
serted lumber camp and here we pitched camp. I shot a 
couple of partridges for supper. This I named Camp 
Katahdin, for from here we had a tine view of the moun- 
tain. In the evening we sat before the fire and talked 
over the trip and planned for the next day's work. 
Monday morning, Oct. SI, brought with it a good snow- 
storm. Joe took the canoe in the stream, while I trav- 
eled through the snow and met him a few miles down the 
stream. The bushes and trees were laden with damp 
snow, and as I passed several old lumber camps it was a 
delightful appearance of natm-e. I was far ahead of Joe, 
for he had to stop and cut log after log to get the canoe 
through. We decided to pitch tent just below the little 
falls. We had to clean the snow off the ground and let 
the sun dry the leaves a little, and then I gathered 
boughs and built the bed, while J oe gathered wood for 
the fire. As we had no tea or coffee, Joe made what he 
called "Indian tea," that is, dry bread burned in the fire 
and then boiled in the teapot. It serves very well when 
you can't get anything else to drink. Thus we had for 
dinner steamed bread, potatoes, Indian tea and maple 
syrup. After dinner we started to go up the mountain 
and cruise for a caribou, but just as we were ready to 
start a snow squall came and we did not leave the tent 
for an hour. At last the squall passed over and sunshine 
came again, and we decided to go to Little Pond and see 
what was there. We stayed around the pond a couple of 
hours, but it was very cold and the pond was skimmed 
over with ice. We returned to camp and prepared for a 
long, cold night. It proved to be the coldest one we had 
had on our trip. This camp I named Camp Freeze-out, 
our last camp. In the morning we decided to break 
camp and return down the West Branch to Joe's "Home 
Camp," just below the Debskeneak Falls, We left our 
tent standing, and I took aU my dufiie in my pack basket, 
and Joe taking the canoe, we started over the three-mile 
carry to the West Branch. In one hour and a half we 
reached the river and paddled down stream, carrying 
around Aboljackmegus Falls and Pocquackamus Falls. 
Below this we reached the delightful little birch bark 
camp of artist Turner, of New York city, who planned 
and built this little cabin, covered with birch bark on 
the outside and furnished within in the happiest man- 
ner, known only to an artist who loves rural life. We 
partook of a delightful meal with our host, Mr. Turner. 
After lunch I took a few photographs of the exterior and 
interior, and a flashlight of the artist at home in the de- 
lightful corner of his cabin. The artist had been in the 
woods since the early spring and intended to stay all 
winter, and with the aid of his friend and only neighbor, 
Joe Francis, although three miles away, anticipated 
many pleasant hours hunting on the snow before the 
first of January. Bidding our host good- by, and hoping 
we would see him again, we pushed off from his little 
wharf and proceeded down the river to Debskeneak 
Falls. It was a short carry around the falls, and we 
were soon in the West Branch again, and our next stop 
was to be at the long looked for camp of Joe Francis, on 
the point projecting out into the Debskeneak dead water. 
We reached there at 5 P. M., and how happy his family 
were to see our safe return, for they knew we had had a 
hard and cold trip, How happy his little daughter Isabelle 
was, and his granddaughter Cora, calling '^Papa's com- 
ing!" when they first spied the canoe coming around the 
point, just below the rapids. I stayed at Joe's Home 
Camp over a week, and we took many short trips around 
the surrounding country. 
Two days after our arrival we paddled up to the Deb- 
skeneak Pond, and there leaving the canoe on shore 
climbed the rocky ledges in search of a caribou. We 
hunted for two days without success, although seeing a 
number of deer and lots of caribou tracks. The third day 
our luck changed. We traveled in another direction, we 
climbed the little mountain and Joe traveled the higher 
ledge, while I cruised the lower ones. Joe at last scared 
up a large herd of caribou, and as luck would have it 
they of course ran in the wrong direction. One happened 
to single out from the rest and came within 100yds. of 
us. We both opened fire on him, and after putting 
seven bullets through him succeeded in laying him low. 
We returned to camp and I took a picture of the return 
of the caribou hunters. I spent many pleasant hours at 
the delightful cabin of artist Turner, and he revisiting 
meat Camp Joe Francis. Our most delightful evening 
was the birthday party of Joe's daughter Josephine. We 
had a card party, and the writer and Josephine defeated 
Mrs. Dennis and artist Turner in a game of King Pete. 
I left Joe's camp Oct. 30 at 6:30 A. M., and we had a 
rough paddle of sixteen miles to Norcross, arriving there 
at 11:30 A. M. After dinner at the Norcross House, and 
expressing my deer and caribou heads to friend Crosby, 
ihe taxidermist at Bangor, I bade my kind friend and 
faithful guide good-by and boarded the afternoon train to 
Bangor, and then over the M. C. & B, & M. R. R. home- 
ward. Altogether I can say our trip was a most delight- 
ful one, and I thank my guide, Mr. Joseph Francis, for 
his kindness and for the hard labor which he went 
through to give me a good time, We savr altogether six- 
teen moose, and Joe estimates the herd of caribou at 
sixty or seventy. We saw a great many deer, and par- 
tridges were quite plentiful. I am pleased to say that my 
photographs which I took on the trip are all good, and 
that I am, by the aid of our esteemed journal, Forest 
AND Stream, able to illustrate this sketch, so that those 
who are, as Forest and Stream expresses it, "chained 
to business and can't go shooting," may see what pleasures 
and difficulties can be found in the pathless woods. 
Capt. Joseph B. Taylor. 
GEBBNBtJSH, N. 
ANOTHER LOST MAN. 
Coal River, Newfoundland, July 2^.— Editor Forest 
and Stream: Last evening in a fisherman's cabin, while 
a storm was raging on the shore, the conversation turned 
to the subject of adventures, and some of the men present 
told of a man who appeared at Mingan, on the Canadian 
Labrador coast, winter before last, and who would give 
no account of himself excepting to say that he had walked 
there from Quebec. No one believed him, as such a feat 
would be practically impossible. He was clad in old, 
thin clothing; his torn shoes were held together with 
strings; he carried only a small axe; he brought no pro- 
visions and took none away, though urgently requested to 
do so. He would not stop but an hour or two, and then 
went on his way. He seemed to be a cultivated ma.nfrom 
the few words that he uttered. In this description I 
recognized Forest and Stream's "Lost Man." He next 
appeared at Olomanosheek River, where Mr. Geo. T. Mc- 
Tavish, the Hudson Bay Company's factor, persuaded him 
to take a pair of stockings and boots. 
I know the country from Mingan to Olomanosheek very 
well, and I doubt if any other living man has ever at- 
tempted to walk that coast. The high lands are covered 
so deeply with caribou moss or snow that one is quickly 
exhausted in walking. The valleys are filled with a snarl 
of dwarf tamarack and spruce that a bear could hardly 
penetrate. Deep arms of bays at short intervals extend 
for miles into the rocky coast, and there are wild rivers to 
cross. 
This country was traversed on foot hy a man who did 
not freeze, while thickly-clad natives were in danger. He 
crossed rivers and valleys where Indians cannot go. He 
carried no provisions, and no apparatus for obtaining fish 
or game. He had nothing to shelter him from the weather. 
Toward spring he arrived at Ford's Harbor, on North 
Labrador, and while walking on the snow, which was on 
a level with the roof of Mr. Ford's house, he fell over the 
front part of the house and his neck was broken. He is 
buried at Ford's Harbor. If you will send a copy of 
Forest and Stream containing the picture of the Lost 
Man to Mr. Ford, Ford's Harbor, North Labrador; an- 
other to Mr. Nicholas Fitzgerald, Harbor Grace, New- 
foundland, and another to Mr. Scott, Hudson Bay Com- 
pany's factor at Mingan, Quebec, they will identify the 
man if he is the Lost Man. Robt, S. Morris. 
MR. ROBINSON'S STORIES. 
As one of Forest and Stream's numerous readers I 
wish to thank Mr. Robinson for continuing the story of 
the daily doings of our Danvis friends. From the open- 
ing chapter of "Uncle Lisha's Shop" to the last line of 
"Uncle Lisha's Outing" the author shows a perfect knowl- 
edge of the people and events he describes. To the man 
born and brought up in a large city, and to whom pave- 
ments, brick walls and the noise and bustle of such places 
is as the breath of life, and to whom a day spent among 
the forests and mountains as nature made them, is as a 
day lost, the simple tale of life in Danvis (told even as 
Mr. Robinson tells it) would not be worth the reading. 
There are others, however, many of them readers of 
Forest and Stream, who, scattered far and wide over 
various parts of the world, look back with pleasant 
recollections to many a quiet old-fashioned homestead 
among the New England hills, and in whom Mr. Robinson 
will arouse a feeling somewhat akin to Uncle Lisha's 
when he found himself transplanted in the far West, 
"Way beyond the 'Hio." 
The happiest hours of my life have been when hunting 
grouse and woodcock in my native State or when track- 
ing larger game in the backwoods of Maine — lying at 
night rolled in my blankets, with no shelter other than 
the branches of a scrubby spruce, on the edge of some 
Nova Scotiia barren, hoping at daybreak to successfully 
call a moose. 
I never sit down to a Christmas dinner at home without 
reealling a Christmas of a few years ago — a very cold 
day, the thermometer way below zero, the wind 
blowing a gale, snow flying in aU directions, my Indian 
and I huddling on the leev?ard side of a large boulder on 
a bleak Nova Scotia barren, vainly trying to eat our 
frozen lunch. I could not help thinking at the time of 
friends at home, perhaps sitting down to an elaborate 
dinner. Well, I would not have exchanged places with 
them. Our camp on that hunting trip was certainly 
rather rough. From the outside it looked like a pile of 
brush covered with snow. A rubber blanket formed 
the door, the floor the frozen ground, and no roof to 
speak of. Yet when we broke camp for good at the first 
streak of light on an extremely cold morning, every one 
of the party with a heavy load (we carried out the best 
parts of three moose), and with two days' hard snowshoe- 
ing before us before reaching a settlement, we were all 
very silent. After crossing a lake I turned and looked 
back at our forlorn-looking and desolate camp with genu- 
ine regret at leaving, and wondering would I ever see it 
again. 
As Gran'ther Hill says, "It is good fer a man's body and 
soul to go a-huntin', ef he don't hunt like a cussed hawg, 
a-gawmin' daown ev'y thing he comes tu." 
In these days of gold, free silver, Populists, and the 
Lord knows what, a chapter from "Danvis Folks" seems 
(to quote Gran'ther Hill again) "like a rest to the body 
and a divarshion to the mind." C. M, Stark. 
DtjnbArton, N. H., Aug. 26. 
The Forest and Stheam is put to press each week on Tuesday 
Correspondence intended for publication should reach ms at the 
latest by Monday, and as much earlier as practicable. 
A BIT OF GENERALSHIP* 
Ed coiled, or rather folded^ his three-story propolrtions 
into his usual cross-legged attitude, produced his pipe, and 
as the smoke baganto coil upward said, "Say, what was 
that business about a coyote you was telling the kid about 
the other day?" 
"You mean the coyote that caught the jack? The 
day you went to town for supplies I went over toward 
those breaks that run up into the hills from the river along 
by Ford's place there, to see if I couldn't get a few quail. 
I worked pretty well up the canon among the plum and 
berry bushes, and jumped a covey that went on up toward 
the hills. I got a right and left as they rose, and then fol- 
lowed them and got nine before they scattered; so I 
couldn't find any more. Then I thought I had enough 
anyhow, so I cut across toward camp right over the hills. 
I went about a mUe and run against a lot of fresh coyote 
tracks going my way, so I followed them, thinking I 
might get a shot, and not caring much whether I did or 
not. When I got to the top of that hill where the big rock 
is I saw the coyotes, two of them, trotting along the side- 
hill across the valley. I naturally watched them as they 
went along, running out to a bunch of grass or a rock 
sticking up in the snow, and then going side by side 
again. They had got a hundred yards or so from where I 
first saw them, when a big jack rabbit jumped out of a 
bunch of grass and bounced along pretty lively ahead of 
them. 
"When he bounced out one of the coyotes lay down and 
the other loped along after the rabbit, not in much of a 
hurry, but fast enough to keep the long-eared gentleman 
from doing much sleeping all the same. I didn't under- 
stand that kind of a play, so I sneaked up to the rocks 
and thought I'd see it through. The rabbit and the other 
coyote ran along the side of the hill and circled up on to 
the table-land on top, and came back to within a few 
yards of the starting place. When they got back, the 
coyote that had been lying down jumped up and started 
after the jack, and the one that trotted him the first heat 
lay down and took a rest while his partner swung him 
round the circle; then the first coyote trotted him another 
round. 
"They kept this game up for quite a little while, running 
'first in and first out,' as the railroad men say, until they 
had the jack pretty warm and tired; then when he came 
around the last time the coyote that was lying down 
made a little quick spurt, got alongside, stuck his nose 
under the jack an<^ tossed him into the air. He caught 
him on the fly as he came down, gave a little snap and a 
shake, and that wja the last look the jack had. The 
other coyote was right alongside by that time and grabbed 
his share on the run, and a few jerks and pulls butchered 
the rabbit in a way that was satisfactory to both, and 
they had him stowed away in a few minutes and were 
ready for more. 
"They fooled around a bit, smelling the snow and lick- 
ing up the stray drops of blood, and then trotted on until 
I lost sight of them entirely." El Comanoho. 
FIELD NOTES. 
Milwaukee, Aug. 18. — Editor Forest and Stream: In 
June of this year I saw a number of turkey buzzards 
around Big St. Germaine Lake, in Vilas county. Wis. I 
think they breed in that vicinity. I don't remember ever 
seeing them so far north before. In this section I also 
saw fish hawks and bald-headed eagles, and found a nest 
of the latter. The fish hawks were continually diving 
with good success, and generally went in the same direc- 
tion with fish, so they probably had young to feed. 
Doubtless many readers of Forest and Stream will 
remember the frame house now unoccupied and broken 
open on the island in Big St. Germaine Lake. In the 
kitchen of this house I found a chimney swallow's nest 
containing two vphite eggs. The nest was made of small 
twigs stuck together with a light-colored gluelike sub- 
stance, and it was attached to a rough board on inside of 
building, about lOin. below the roof. This is the second 
chimney swallow's nest I have found inside of a build- 
ing. 
On a very rocky island in Crooked Lake I found a loon's 
nest containing two eggs of a dark chocolate color, with 
spots of a still darker brown. There was no nest at all, 
at least nothing had been gathered or arranged; but a soft 
loamy piece of ground, covered with very short grass, had 
been selected and worn down till the nest was on bare 
ground. There had been another loon's nest within a few 
feet of this one last year or some previous time, as the 
oiircular bare spot showed plainly; this nest was not over 
lOin. above and within 1ft. of the water. The arrange- 
ment gave the loon a chance to almost drop off the nest 
into the water and dive several hundred yards before com- 
ing to the surface at a safe distance for herself, and with- 
out giving a person any idea from where she came unless 
he happened to see her quietly slide into the water off the 
nest. 
I was amused at seeing a kingbird dive into a stream 
nearly as deeply as a kingfisher^ and saw this repeated 
several times. I could not see any insects it was after, 
and as I was within 30ft. of the bird, it appeared to me 
as if it was done for pleasure or for a bath. It was not a 
skim such as a swallow or martin makes for a drink, but 
more nearly like the dive of a kingfisher. I have seen 
kingbirds' nests on top of partly hollow cedar fence posts, 
in the eave trough of a railway station within a few feet 
of where the engine passed, and on low sweeping cedar 
limbs in mid-stream not 1ft. above the water. They seem 
almost to equal the English sparrow for adapting them- 
selves to surroundings. 
On a small island I found- a very young sand snipe, a 
ball of down with a little dark stripe near the eye, and 
with a good pair of legs; it ran rapidly out on the extreme 
end of a bare sandpoint, and went into the water several 
feet from shore swimming well, and it got around me 
while I stood still. The old bird hovered just over it, 
calling out, and apparently with a broken wing; but when 
she saw I let the young alone and it got back on land 
again in the grass, her wing got better rapidly. On the 
other end of this island, in some brush, I found a young 
ground bird just out of the nest. I touched it and it 
partly ran and fiew into water a few inches, but as soon as 
it felt water it got back on dry land and hurried into the 
