342 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 29, 1898. 
\$athtt[m %mvi&t 
In the Forest 
V" A. 
The arrival of American sportsmen is always a sub- 
ject of absorbing interest to the little town of Mattawa, 
and was a much rarer occurrence a few years ago than 
it has since become. In those days the larger supply 
stores had not yet gathered courage to compete seri- 
ously with the Hudson Bay Company, around whose 
fort the settlement had first grown up. To trade with 
the Northern Indians, exchanging hunters' supplies for 
their fur in the spring, and advancing traps and ammuni- 
tion in the autumn — to fit out an adventurous sports- 
man who was anxious to still-hunt the largest of Amer- 
ican deer, were still the unquestioned prerogatives of 
the great company. Nor was the competition greater 
among the hotels, since the famous tavern known as 
Peter O'Farrell's was the only , one in town, and its 
proprietor, with his dog Fairy, will be long remembered 
by the stray hunters and lumbermen who have passed 
the night there. 
Peter was just knocking the ashes from his pipe, pre- 
paratory to retiring, when two men, obviously Amer- 
icans, drove up in the crazy bus which met the daily 
train from the East. 
"Well, well! More moose hunters, but I'm glad to 
see yez. Come in, sors. Yes, there do be plenty of 
moose this year. I seen one back of the church yister- 
day," said the genial but imaginative Mr. O'Farrell. 
"Howly smoke! But you've got stuff enough to go to 
the Height of Land." 
"That is just where we intend going, not for moose 
alone, but for caribou," said Robert Daunton, the taller 
of the two strangers, as he entered the stove-heated 
office, and threw' off his overcoat. 
The speaker was a tall, powerfully-made man of some 
thirty years, and had seen much of wood life, while his 
companion, Roger Farnesby, had never been on a 
hunt before. 
The two Americans had barely entered the hotel when 
they were followed by the head factor of the Hudson 
Bay Post, who at once greeted them with the news 
that he had their outfit ready and waiting, thanks to 
the telegrams he had received from Daunton. 
That very evening, in spite of the protests of Mr. 
O'Farrell, who felt aggrieved that he had not been con- 
sulted in advance as the company had been, and who 
thought that he should reap the emoluments of a week's 
delay at least — that same evening the outfit of the 
travelers was carried to the company's store, and a 
list of further necessaries made out. While, the last 
arrangements were being made, the Hudson Bay factor 
sent word to the men he had engaged for the Amer- 
icans, so that the following morning the guides were on 
hand, and with the luggage they were embarked on the 
flatboat for transportation up the Ottawa River, with a 
rapidity that quite dazed Mattawa. 
The four guides were Indians with a dash of French- 
Canadian blood in them, and had been chosen from 
among the best hunters in the employ of the company. 
Alexander Francois, the head guide, was noted through- 
out the Ottawa country for his skill in trapping and 
tracking. 
The expedition, once under way, passed rapidly 
through the Keepawa Lake district without a stop for 
hunting on the road, and on the third day they reached 
Birch Lake. 
That night Farnesby was awakened by a harsh whistle, 
followed by an angry stamping. He shook Daunton and 
whispered: 
"What's that? Listen." 
The moment he. spoke the whistle was repeated, he 
heard two or three jumps and a few twigs snap, and the 
visitor was gone. 
Daunton said sleepily: 
"That's your first midnight alarm. You'll have plenty 
more until you know the language of the woods. It 
was nothing but a buck coming down the trail to the 
beach. He ran across the white tents and did not know 
what to make of them. When he heard you speak he 
bolted. Good night." 
Farnesby rolled up in his blanket again and tried to 
sleep, but instead he kept listening to the mxknown 
noises of the forest so mysterious to a newcomer, so 
simple to a veteran hunter. Far down the lake a loon 
screamed, and Farnesby wondered what great beast 
could make such a sound, for he had yet to learn that 
the larger animals make the least noise. 
Then in the intense stillness away off to the south 
he heard a murmur, gentle as that of the brook, which 
flowed a few yards away. It grew, slowly at first, then 
increasing in volume until it resembled the rumble of a 
distant train. Farnesby sat up in his blankets and 
drew on his boots, intending to slip out and listen to 
this new phenomenon without disturbing Daunton. 
Each second the roar grew louder, until it resembled a 
waterfall in the distance, and at short intervals Farnesby 
heard sharp reports that sounded like rifle shots. He 
decided to arouse Daunton at the risk of being laughed 
at again. Daunton raised himself on his elbow. He 
listened a second and then said hastily: 
"Get out of the tent and run for the beach. A tornado 
is coming and your rifles are pines a hundred feet high, 
breaking like reeds." 
A second more and Daunton had rolled the guns in 
the blankets to keep them dry, and seizing his mocca- 
sins had sprung outside. Two quick jerks brought down 
the poles, letting the tent fall on its contents, in the 
hope that the pegs would keep it from blowing away. 
By this time the wind was upon them. The men aroused 
by the uproar had reached the beach a few rods away 
and were clustered around Farnesby, half dazed by the 
din and lightning, all except Francois, who had remained 
behind to pull down the guides' tent and throw some 
heavy stones on it. 
Daunton started for the shore. The wind was terrific 
and the air full of flying branches and leaves, The 
exposed trees around them were swaying and groan- 
ing, and half-way to the beach a large balsam with wide 
spreading boughs impending over the path cracked 
ominously. Daunton hesitated a second and then de- 
cided that it was more dangerous to stand still than to 
dash past. He had taken but one step when a pair of 
arms slipped round him and drew him back. As he stag- 
gered backward, he saw the fir snap— then, slowly at 
first, but gathering speed each heartbeat, crash through 
the smaller tree tops and dash itself to fragments on the 
rocks beneath. 
There are few wilder sights than a giant tree falling 
before the wind. 
Neither Daunton nor Francois were struck by the fly- 
ing pieces, and the latter remarked quietly in English: 
"Tree fall." 
Daunton found Farnesby on the beach up to his knees 
in the shallow water. The trees along the shores were 
now snapping fast, some of the larger ones reaching in 
their fall out over the beach and plunging their tops in 
the waters of the lake. 
There was a fringe of great pines along the shore, and 
they were going down one by one. Francois tapped 
Daunton on the shoulder and commenced wading out 
into the shallow lake until he was up to his chin in the 
water. The inlet of the lake had at this point formed a 
delta of sand oyer which the water was very shallow for 
some hundred yards from the shore. Daunton and 
Farnesby followed Francois, but the other men being 
shorter could not get out so far. Scarcely had they 
changed positions when a pine fell obliquely toward 
them. Daunton thought that it would reach the guides, 
but it just missed them, throwing over the terrified 
men a mass of spray. The glare of the lightning had 
now become continuous, and the hunters could see as 
plainly as in daylight. Crash after crash of thunder 
succeeded the flashes with scarcely distinguishable in- 
tervals. The whole forest waved like a field of grain in 
a gale, and the trees that were exposed by their height 
or by the fall of their neighbors struggled painfully. 
They bent with the wind until the breaking point seemed 
lor.g passed, and then struggled with a mighty effort 
back to an upright position, only to ne forced to bend 
again. When a specially strong gust caught them 
already bent over, or when wood and bark could stand 
the strain no more, the huge trunk would unexpectedly 
snap and carry widespread ruin among its lesser mates. 
From their position in the Lake Daunton and Farnes- 
by. could watch the forest with safety from the wind at 
least, but they could not have remained standing on the 
exposed beach for a moment without having been 
blown into the lake. 
The cyclone did not last long, and when once passed 
left behind a heavy rain. The men waded ashore, stiff 
from the cold water, and lit a fire. Some smaller trees 
had fallen across the camp, but beyond smashing a few 
cooking utensils did little damage. The tents and 
blankets were soaked by the rain, but fortunately had 
not blown away. 
They learned the next day that the worst part of the 
storm had passed a little to the south of the camp, and 
about a quarter of a mile away they found a spot where 
it had cut a swath in the forest some 500yds. wide in a 
straight line, and had not left a stick standing. It was a 
perfect windfall, and had absolutely annihilated the for- 
est, leaving in its stead mere piles of splintered, twisted 
timber. 
Farnesby gazed on the scene aghast, and declared 
that he would never again allow the camp to be made 
near large growth. In fact, the party had been most 
fortunate in selecting the sheltered gully by the inlet of 
th* lake, where the full force of the wind could not 
reach them, or their outfit would certainly have been 
blown away or smashed by falling trees, even if they had 
escaped uninjured. 
Two days of lake travel and portages with their heavy 
loads brought them to Kastenan Lake. Here a halt 
was made to look for fresh signs of caribou, but none 
were found, so the journey was resumed to Grand Lac. 
On a portage, just before reaching this lake, Farnesby 
had his first view of a moose. He had gone on ahead 
to shoot partridges, and getting too far in advance had 
seated himself to wait for the others. In the act of 
putting a lighted match to his pipe, he was horrified to 
see a gigantic beast standing in the path before him, and 
not 20ft. away. 
It towered seven feet at the withers, and the massive 
antlers swung clear of the shoulders. The creature was 
on a slight knoll, and Farnesby afterward explained to 
Daunton that he thought it was the Irish elk come back 
from prehistoric times. Although the Southerner 
had been on the alert for big game, and especially 
moose, this sudden apparition totally paralyzed him. He 
simpty sat and looked, letting the match burn out be- 
tween his fingers. He knew it was a moose, because it 
could be nothing else; but then it did not look like his 
.wildest conception of that animal, and then those long 
Avhite legs, like stilts, how they could kick! The moose 
seemed uncertain what to do, and Farnesby was in- 
specting the nearest tree out of the corner of his eye, 
when the bull suddenly stamped with his forefoot, and 
pricking up his ears grunted. At that second a rifle shot 
rang out close at hand — then another. The bull ran 
straight forward, stepping completely over Farnesby, 
who had thrown himself on the ground, and disappeared 
in the thick brush with a tremendous crashing. 
Daunton ran up to- Farnesby. "I did not see you, 
Roger, until I fired. Did he startle you much?" 
J rather think he'd have startled you," said his friend 
indignantly, as he gathered himself up. "Nice country 
this. Sit down peaceably to light a pipe and find a 
restored fossil standing over you." 
The men had hastened up by this time, and throwing 
down their loads, all started on the trail. At the foot 
of the hill the moose was found facing his pursuers and 
in his last gasp. As Daunton came up, he staggered and 
fell on his side, dead. Farnesby sat down on a log, and 
looked in amazement at the enormous chest and long 
legs. The antlers, which were remarkably fine, formed a 
great addition to their load, almost compensating for 
the provisions they had already consumed, but Daunton 
knew that such splendid horns could only be found on 
the solitary bulls scattered far up north, and he intended 
to leave them for safe-keeping at the nearest Hudson 
Bay Company's fort. 
The next "day they landed at the little post which 
controlled the district around Grand Lac, and here they 
purchased fresh supplies, as this would be the last depot 
until Lake Abitibi was reached. 
The factor in charge told them that his Indians re- 
ported caribou in numbers on a little river that flowed 
into the north side of Lake Expanse, a round body of 
water, some ten miles across, through which the. Ottawa 
flows after leaving Grand Lac. Crossing this lake in 
loaded canoes was dangerous at all times from the 
frequency of sudden squalls, and impossible with high 
winds. They reached the inlet of Lake Traverse without 
adventure, and camped in a thick grove of young birches. 
The winds were high and it was useless to venture out 
until the lake calmed down. 
II. 
After lunch on .the second day of this tiresome waiting 
Daunton took his rifle and started back on an old lumber 
road for partridges. He had his hunting coat on and in 
his pockets the little necessaries that a hunter carries: 
matches, a compass, a tin cup, a flask of brandy and some 
twenty cartridges. He secured several partridges by 
shooting their heads off with his rifle, not a difficult 
matter to a steady eye when the bird is on the ground 
walking slowly away. Hanging them- conspicuously on 
branches to pick up on the way back, he hurried on. 
After several miles of walking he came across a covey 
of partridges, two of which he shot on the road. A 
large cock offered a tempting mark several times, but 
scuttled off just as Daunton was aiming. He was an- 
noyed and made up his mind to secure the bird. The 
partridge ran into some small growth, and Daunton 
followed as fast as he could, barely able to keep in 
sight of the game. At length he took a snap shot at the 
bird through the bushes, and rather to his surprise 
knocked its head off. The report startled two more 
partridges which were skulking close by. Daunton 
picked up the first bird, and slipping in into his spacious 
game pocket, ran after one of the others. After some 
minutes' turning and twisting he lost the bird and started 
back to the road. He walked about ten minutes and 
then thought to himself: 
"Singular that I should have gone so far from the 
trail," but he kept on. When, he must have walked a 
mile or so he stopped again and sat down. After trying 
in vain to recall the zigzag course he had made after 
the partridge, he gave it up and concluded that he had 
definitely lost the road. "It's nasty work walking in 
the bush, and it will bring me into camp after dark," 
he thought, feeling for his compass. As he went through 
one pocket after another, the careless expression faded 
from his face. He stood up and taking off his coat 
searched the contents of each pocket separately, then 
his trousers- — all in vain. The compass had fallen out 
and he was lost. He stood aghast at the thought, for he 
knew its full meaning. Then he figured that he had 
walked all the afternoon approximately toward the sun 
and that would be southwest, so an opposite direction 
would take him back to Lake Expanse. The sun was 
going down fast by this time, and Daunton, putting it 
behind his left shoulder, started into the bush; violating 
an old rule of hunters, which he knew well — when lost, 
sit down and wait, don't move. 
Dauntoji feeling quite safe in his calculation pushed 
on briskly, with the sun going down behind him. The 
woods for a while were somewhat open, and he made 
rapid progress, but as it grew dark he came to the edge 
of a swamp. He worked on for a little while in hope 
of finding good water, but soon gave it up as useless. 
A tree with its roots upturned offered a good camping 
place, where he could be sheltered from the wind. With 
his heavy sheath knife he soon cut birch bark and twigs 
enough to start a fire, and with the crackling blaze his 
spirits revived. Fie cooked the partridge he had shot 
and ate half of it, leaving the remainder for breakfast. 
The lack of water annoyed him greatly, but a very lit- 
tle brandy served to moisten his mouth, He cut a long 
strip of birch bark from a neighboring tree, and as the 
fire went down he coiled it around him, putting the' 
foot end against the loose dirt of the upturned roots. 
With his blanket he passed a good night, except that 
the extreme cold aroused him before daybreak. He 
rekindled the fire and ate what w r as left of the partridge 
with the smallest possible allowance of brandy, for more 
partridges might be shot, but the stimulant could not be 
replaced. 
The day broke black and cloudy, and as soon as he 
could see Daunton tightened his belt, and looked over 
his rifle and remaining cartridges, then started in the 
direction he considered northeast. He- forced his way 
through the swamp in front of him, sinking at every 
step into the mossy duff that covered the ground, and 
climbing over the fallen tamaracks, which formed the 
chief growth in the vicinity. Early in the afternoon 
he found a pool of half-stagnant water. Throwing him- 
self flat on his chest he drank with avidity the first water 
he had tasted for twenty-four hours. After resting 
awhile he pushed on in as straight a line as possible. 
With the sun invisible behind the thickening clouds, 
with no moss on the large tree trunks, with no tall pines 
with their bent tops to guide him, he could only rely 011 
guesswork. 
About dusk he made a camp on a tiny hillock in 
the swamp, building a fire and smoking a pipe in 
place of supper. When the pipe burned out he threw 
himself on a pile of hemlock boughs he had gathered 
and fell into the troubled sleep of exhaustion. The 
wind was coming in fitful gusts, sobbing through the 
low tamaracks and wailing by the larger trees not far 
from Daunton's camp. A cold and curious tickling 
feeling in the face awakened him before the night was 
done. He raised himself, stiff and faint, on his elbow. 
It was snowing. The first snowfall of the year. "It 
needed only this to finish me." thought Daunton, still 
rain would be worse. He lit the fire and cowered close 
to it until daylight. The loneliness of the woods came 
over him, so silent was everything, except the almost 
inaudible rustle of the falling snow. He threw more 
wood on the fire, for he had a large supply close at 
hand from a newly fallen tree, which he had broken into 
convenient pieces. The flames lit up the surrounding 
trees and cast dancing shadows on the veil of night be- 
hind. The stories he had heard in his boyhood, in his 
first camp in the _Adirondacks. then in all their wildness, 
recurred to him," He remembered the tale of the sur- 
