Deo. S6, 1896.] 
FOHKST AN13 STREAM. 
607 
a good cause would cry "clams I" in a quiet village on a 
Sunday morninp, and whose tragic death was fresh in 
the memnry of all present; so when the next speaker 
began telling of him we were suFprised. Gen, Miller had 
eeltcted his victim, and we heard 
Low Dearstyne's Story. 
"Talking about Bill Friirchild reminds me of a winter 
night when mv boat had been frozen up for months and 
the ice in the Hudson had begun to get tender in spots. 
No teams had crossed the river for a fortnight, and where 
the foot passengers crossed there were boards placed in 
the most dangerous spots. Although there was a man 
in charge of the boat.who slept on board, I kept watch of 
the river to see that everything was safe. We usually 
wintered the boat in the Albany basin, but this time she 
was moored in the canal between the two big freight 
houses of the B, & A. R. R. 
"On this particular night there was a heavy fog in 
which a man could easily get lost, and the ice was getting 
weaker every hour. I had looked in at the rai'road 
office and found Bill at work on his bookp, and sat down 
by the stove. After a while he looked up and remarked: 
'It's a bad night on the ice. Some ppople crossed the 
river jnst before dark, but you wouldn't get me on it. 
No, 811 1 I wouldn't try to cross that river for a thousand 
dollars.' 
" 'Listen !' said I. 'What was that?' 
" 'Somebody singing,' suggesttd he. 
"A wail came from the river, distinctly this time, for 
the night was still. Bill grabbed a lantern and we rushed 
out on the dock. The feeble light did not show an object 
10ft. away, but we heard a splash and a groai., appar- 
ently not far out in the river. 
" 'Hang on," cried Bill; 'I'll be with you sonn," and in 
spite of protest h^ dashed down the plope by Dandaraw's, 
whtre people took the ice to cross. He shouttd, and soon 
I heard this dialoeue: 
" 'Oh, Lord I Help me out ! I'm a respectable colored 
man and live ov^r in Nigger H >llow, an' my name's 
St^'phen Baker. Ot. do please send some one quick.' 
"Then Bill saifi: 'You're respectable, are you ? What 
did you say your name was?' 
" 'It'p Stephen Baker, an' I'm a resnectable colored 
man. O do send some one quick, for I'll drown sure,' 
" 'Are you Steve Baker that stole Sim Diamond's chick- 
ens?' 
" 'No, Lord, no I I never took no chickens; it was my 
brotb«^r Jim. Oh, come quick 1' 
" 'What you got hold of ?' 
" 'A hoard. O'l, do com< !' 
"All the while Bill was looking for the edge of the hole 
and taking cff his clothes. In he went and towed the 
board and the darky to the sound ice, but both were too 
chilled to get out. I had alarmed the men in D indaraw's 
bar, and tbey pushed out boards and rescued both men. 
Bill had an attack of pneumonia and rheumatism and 
lost a month's work. And that's the kind of man Bill 
Fdirchild was, and you all know how he died." 
As I write this, thirty-seven years later, Whittier's 
verse comes to mind : 
"Dream not helm and barnesa, 
The f^ign of valor true; 
Peace hath higher tests of manhood 
Than battle ever hnew." 
When Low had finished Billy B shop said: "Yes, Pill 
Fairchild vos a goot fayler; we should trink punch mit 
him." And 
"They drank to one saint more," 
Gen. Mat arose and su^eeated that a representative 
Jayhawker from Bleeding Kinsas was anxious and will- 
ing to tell something about the human fruit which the 
trees bore in that sanguinary region, or perhaps a story 
of Ossawotamie Brown, who had been banged to a tree 
in Virginia some three weeks before, would be accept- 
able. 
The Lost Hat. 
I had expected to be called on, and had laid out what 
I thought to be a good story, bub Miller's remarks sent 
the whole thing out of mind, I was nervous and self- 
conscious to a degree, and so with some remarks about 
the newspapers having told the whole Kansas story, and 
perhaps a little more, I said: 
"Oar host Porter, would, I know, rather hear of my 
hunting and trapping experiences than about jayhawk- 
ing, as they call it, so I will tell him how I lost a hat on 
a hunting trip. It was not a valuable hat ; just one of 
the kind that you see in rural villa3:es— a hat that under 
no conditions csuld ever have bean a new one. You 
know the kind, they were never created by man, but 
have the air of having always existed. If I cared to par- 
aphrase Byron I would say: 
'I had a hat which was not all a hat. 
Part of the brim was gone, etc' 
"These details are necessary when you tell about a hat, 
for its shape, texture and color are all that comprise in- 
dividuality in a hat. Its texture was felt, and its shape 
was not like the shiny 'nail keg' which adorns the brow 
of a Member of Assembly when he comes to Albany; its 
color, if it had any, is beyond my power to describe. Toe 
sun had toyed with its hues until it had attained that 
delicate shade of old-mown hay seen on the chin whiskers 
of the member from Squeedunk. 
"That's the best description I can give of the hat. It 
was a rare day in autumn; you know bow the hills and 
the maples looked; I won't go into that because I didn't 
lose them ; they get around every year. 
"I had a new turkey c. 11, a sort of small box with a 
thin cover that said 'keouk' when you tickled it, and the 
turkeys were wild in Michigan, wilder than deer, and an 
old gobbler that had been shot at once or twice took no 
chances. I found a place to lie in the leaves behind a 
huge pine log; laid my rifle handy and at intervals 
worked the n-^w call. A^ter awhile a distant gobble was 
heard. More call and nearer gobble, and I began to feel 
very good. S )on a fine gobbler came in sight, strutting 
and feeling his way. I had learned not to overdo the 
calling trick and kept silent as ho advanced. I wanted 
to get him to come within SOyds. and then try to take 
him in the head or neck, and then utilize him for a din- 
ner; so I watched under a limb that I had laid on top of 
the log. He was probably 50 /ds, away and my heart was 
pumping more than was really necessary, when I dropp=>d 
the call and began to scratch leaves like a hen turaey 
looking for beech nuts, and shoved my hat up on a stick 
to represent a turkey's back whpn 1 Lightning 
couldn't have be^n quicker I Somrtbing hit that bat and 
cut my head. Feel the scar! The fact was that I had 
called up a turkey gobbler and a wildcat or catamount at 
the same time, and fooled 'em both. I didn't get the tur- 
key and I didn't get the hat. It can't be lost, for science 
says that nothing is lost, it only changes its form. Con- 
tent with that assurance, I know that riiy hat is still some- 
where in this universe; perhaps a portion of it has been 
taken up, as it decomposed, by the roots of trees and 
plants, and so it lives in other lives, or like 
'Imperious Cassar, dead and turned to clay, 
May stop a hole to keep the wind away.' 
"But my hat was gone, taken without so much as 'by 
your leave,' and I only reeret that 1 have neither the hide 
of the catamount nor the fragments of the hat to decorate 
my den, I can only say with Popp: 
'A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 
'TiB all thou art, and all the proud shall be.' 
Billy Bishop by this time was beginning to feel very 
numerous, although Port had tried to keep the punch 
under his own eye, for Porter was a mm who seldom 
looked upon the wine when it was rosy; but Billy paid no 
attention to the color of it, the white schnapps of Hol- 
land was as welcome to Billy as any. Hj wasn't any- 
where near being "over his head," but just felt his oats, 
and wanted to talk. 
Billy Bishop's Adventure. 
"I'll yust tole you 'bout de hell -hole w'at Port had gone 
by for pa'tridges. John Pulver he always tell 'bout it, an' 
how spooks set 'round de edge in de dark of de moon an' 
work all kinds o' harm to people who come by der hole. 
FBED MATBBR. 
I was a-choppin' in Glen Van Rensselaer's when I dinks I 
CO by Mr. Teller's for my ole axe to split de trees, an' it 
was so warm I lie down by myself to rest, an' I fall asleep 
by a nice shady place. W'en I wake it was all dark an' 
I see a light down in a deep hole, an' den some stumps he 
roll up f'um der hole an' dey all get me around. Dm I 
knowed d^t was de hell-hole w'at John Pulver telled 
aboud. Was I achared? Veil, you bet you was some 
schared too ven you find yourself in de mittel von some 
stumps an' dey all choin bants an' tance you aboud like 
some chilld'n w'en dey sing Rins: arouat R isy.' 
"Pooty soon dey stop, an' one big stump he say, 'Billy 
Bishop, did you got some Echnapp.? If you got s-^-me, 
yust put der pottle on my head an' go home.' I find der 
pottle in my coat an' I put him on dat stump, an' by Chim- 
miny, dey open der ring an' I nefer stop runnin' till I 
reach Ike Fryer's tafern. Dt^y can all chop around dot 
hell-hole, but I know when I got a blenty." 
Jinn Lansing's Story. 
"Gentlemen," said Jim, "I think that if Billy's bottle 
had not be^n so near empty he would not have seen so 
many stumps all dancing in one set. Just what might 
have happened if Billy bad finished the bottle and had 
none to leave for the spooks will never be known; but 
that remarkable hole has a great many stories clustered 
about it. Men who call themselves geologists say it is 
only a 'sink,' but there is a foundation for the dread which 
some people have of it, 
"During the Ravolutionary War a portion of the Amer- 
ican army were in barracks on what is now the McCulloch 
farm, just opposite my place on Clinton H ights, Almost 
every night the sentinel on the past at the southeast corner 
of the encampment, j ist in the edge of the woods, de- 
serted. It was singular that all the desertions were from 
that one post, and 'most all the men were soldiers with 
good records. The officers were puzzled and the men had 
all kinds of theories about it. My grandfather was a pri- 
vate in one of the regiments stationed there, and he. like 
the others, was perplexed by the singular state of affairs. 
This is what he told us boys in later years. 
"It came grandfather's turn to be detailed for guard 
duty. A sentinel had deserted from that post the night 
before, and grandfather went to his captain and asked to 
be put on the same post. Said he, 'Captain, I don't believe 
all these men deserted. Some of 'em were as good men 
as can be found in the army, and wouldn't desert any 
more than you or I would. If you'll get me assitined to 
that post I'd like it.' ^ & s lu 
" 'How's this, Jim?' said the captain, for grandfather's 
name was Jim, same as mine, 'surely you don't want to 
desert like the rest, do ye?' 
"'C'^pn,' said my grandfather, 'they didn't desert. 
There's and naming two of his chums, 
•they've gone and I want to know where. Put me on 
that post on the relief that goes on past midnight, and if 
therf^'s anything to find out 1 11 find it,' 
'•When he went to his post after mid Right he picked 
his fl nt and put fresh powder in the pan of his musket, 
and made up his mind that no matter about the rules 
against making an alarm, he would shoot the first thing 
that came near him. A coon whisked close by, hut he 
could not see to shoot it. A hog feeding on beech nuts 
grunted satisfaction occasionally and soon came in sight. 
When it came within 20ft. grandfather fired and an In- 
dian rose and yelled. When the corporal of the guard 
came there was a dead Indian and a hog skin. That told 
the story. Searching parties were sent out and found a 
hole in which the bodies of ten soldiers lav. Its bottom 
could only be reached by jumping into "a tree and de- 
scending. Six Indians vsere eccampfd in the hole, but 
they never got out alive. It's no wonder that the place 
has a bad name." 
"Jim," sard Tobi, "I read that story in my school his- 
tory when I was a boy." 
"That proves it," said Jim, "but no matter where you 
read it, my grandfather was the man who killed the In- 
dian in the hog skin that had murdered all the sentinels 
on that post by the ccrntr of the woods," 
Tobi Teller rose to a point of order and remarked: "As 
there is a p'^ep of daylight coming through the shutters, I 
now move that we adjourn," 
A feeling of sadnf^ss comes over me when I recall the 
fact that all these old friends are dead; but, in fact, most 
of the men I have fished with have gone over to the ma- 
jority, and while in this train of thought up comes the 
old verse: 
And Jennie is wed and Annie is dead, 
And Alice she fljd in the auld laog syne; 
And I sit here at sixty year. 
Dipping my nose In the Gascon wine. 
Fbed Matuke. 
An Albany correspondent sends us this: 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
S veral cjrrespondents have written to you asking for 
6t( ries of the man who writes stories of oth«r fellows be- 
csiuae they are so fortunate as to have fished with him. 
H re is one of his unpublished yarns. He was to give 
his celebrated war lecture. ' How Things Looked at the 
Front " in Masonic Hall, New York, for Lafayette Post, 
GAR, and as the entertainment was given by the 
Daughters of the Post, they ran things woman-fashion, 
without consultation, and had advertised the lecturer as 
"Col Fred Mather," and so he was intrcduced to the au- 
dience. 
His modesty evidently embarrassed him, and we won- 
dered what he hesitated ah. ut, until he broke out with: 
"The posters and comrade have promoted me to be a 
colonel and I sincerely thank them for the recognition 
that Governor Seymour neglected to make. It reminds 
me that as a stuflent of natural historv I was once ob- 
serving a fl )Ck of turkeys feeding in a Sjuthern field. A 
vile carrion bird of the vulture tribe hovered over them 
and finally alighted and approached the patriarchal 
leader of the fljck and said: 'Good m-^rning, brother,' - 
The old gobbler indignantly r. plied: 'You vile carrion 
bird! How dare you call me brothei? You are nothing 
but a buzz ird !' The stranger meekly replied : 'It is true, 
I am nothing but a buzz jrd, but then 1 would call your 
attention to the fact that I am turkey by brevet.' So," 
said Mpjor Fred, "by the grace of the Daughters of La- 
fayette Post, I shall be colonel by brevet, for this even- 
ing at least." 
The story saved the day— or the evening— and he had 
the audience with him to the close. An Old Comrade. 
DEER STALKING. 
Ranoelet Lakes, December, 1896.— I wish I could do 
justice to the sut j ct of deer st ilking, but it has so many 
aspects, varying so in (ffect upon the appreciation and re- 
cpptiveness of the stalker, that it is not likely that one's 
own views may be fully shared by another. Still, I can 
believe that with many the enjoyment dof s not wholly 
consist in the killing of deer, although it is the primary 
object, but as in fishing for trout, the auxiliaries are the 
attractive feature. 
For my own part, as the killer of many, many thou- 
sands of trout, extending over the greater part of half a 
century, and over annual seasons of months, I will confess 
that I am more tender about the heart than formerly, and 
feel a pity for the trout which I did not experience in 
earlier years. 
I may say the same of deer killing, which was the first 
puisuit I followed for months in my youthful days in the 
valleys and mountains of California in 1853. 
A friend of mine while in advance of myself, while we 
were out a few days ago after deer, brought down in two 
shots, right and hfi, two young de^r which ran almost 
upon us. Thf y were yearlings, a buck and a doe, weigh- 
ing sf^arcely lOOlbs. each. It was the work of a moment. 
Shot through in vital spots, they gatp ^d and died in a few 
moments. More beautif ul creatures in the animal king- 
dom it would be difficult to find. As we watched the life 
departing from their large lustrous eyes, so fringed with 
Tdven lashes, our flash of success was mingled with pity 
and sorrow. There was a look of innocent tenderness 
and would-be fri'mdly inclination in those young faces 
w h tch has many times sin ce wed ged in among my thoughts. 
Whatever season it may be the Maine forests are lovely, 
and it is difficult to say when they are the most so. One 
might say in the early epriiig, when the buds of the de- 
ciduous trees are expanding and the ferns and brakes un- 
folding, or when full fledged, or in the decadence, when 
the autumnal tints appear, or in winter, when garnished 
with wreaths of snow. 
The period of falling leaves is exceptionally charming. 
As the leaves fall they exude the varii us odors of their 
belonging, so that one with close ! eyes may tell the char- 
acter of the prevailing trees. I have often thought of 
the pleasure I should take if I w^re blmd in walking 
among the localities I am familiar with, when the pleas- 
ant recognition of well-known trees would guide my 
steps. 
In my taste the late fall and first half of the winter 
disputes with any other season, and I am not sure if I do not 
prefer the rough and changing time of winter at the lakes,, 
with its accompaniments to any other. At least the sum- 
