Ui^. 7, 1899- 1 
FOREST AND STHKAM. 
h WHS caused by a dimness of sight and the stiffness of 
old age. We Avere crossing a swamp where the mud is 
bottomless. The path was rudely corduroyed. The 
Doctor let one of his stern anchors down between the 
timbers and the old craft began to settle. With a tre- 
mendous effort to retrieve, and by a reflex motion, I 
was bucked laigh in the air. I clutched at the tree tops, 
looked longingly at tlie clouds, and came down with 
the proverbial dull thud. The pack-basket came down 
next, then the rifle, then a shower of nots, tin plates, 
knives and forks; the buckwheat flour came down last 
and covered what the mud did not. Oh! "I was right in 
it (the mud) and out of sight." Kenwell and Delmarsh 
pulled me out; one picked the mud from my best ear 
with a match, while the other scraped my bald head with 
a tin pan. I was a study in black and white and spat- 
ter work that would put in the shade the best efforts 
of Frederick Remington. I alternatelj'^ spat mud and 
flour until I wondered whether I was a dump-cart or a 
grist mill. The Doctor was struggling to get up and 
slinging mud like a yellow journal editor. I asked 
Archie why he had saved that buckwheat flour, and he 
said, "I have not saved it." It angered me to think that 
any one could joke at such a time. I twirled the cofi^ee- 
po't at him with a left in-shoot, he ducked and took first 
on passed balls. I passed the spot this year (on the 
other side). A badly battered coffee-pot hung on a 
limb of a scarred tree — hung there not as a harp on a 
willow, but as a tangible evidence of an ungovernable 
temper. 
Jog along, boys, there's soap and water at the hotel 
and a complete Baxter street outfit. We reached Fourth 
Lake safely. I gave old Doctor a good cleaning, saw 
that he had his peck of oatS, kissed his old muzzle, and 
we laughingly parted as good friends. A bath, supper, 
bed and night's sleep were never more highly appi-e- 
ciated. 
In the morning Delmarsh was on hand and his bill 
was paid. I gave him an extra counterfeit ten-spot. 
The chap really seemed to like me and requested me 
to come in '98. I led him to the valley where the 
stream from Fifth Lake empties into the Fourth, and 
assuming an Aguinaldo attitude I whispered thus: "In 
'98 I'll meet you, when the leaves turn, Archie; when 
the beech nuts are falling I'll meet you; down there 
where the canoes land I'll meet you; stay for me there: 
I Avill not fail to meet thee in that hollow vale." His 
answer was pathetic. I could only catch two words 
between his sobs, "rats" and "crazy." 
Delmarsh's brother and the deer took one canoe, Del- 
marsh and myself another, and we started, for Old 
Forge, intending to catch the afternoon train and pro- 
cure a berth in the Montreal sleeper at Fulton Chain 
and reach New York Sunday morning. The lakes were 
like mirrors; the mountains, trees and cottages were 
reflected perfectly. If you should stand on your head 
you could not tell "t'other from which." I proposed a 
race; the boys agreed. Archie said there was an old 
buck in each canoe and the chances were even. It 
looked like his race until I called his attention to a 
stump ahead. While he was looking over his shoulder 
I got out a sea-anchor in the way of a rubber boot. 
The stakes — my pipe and tobacco — and. the race went 
to his brother. The race and the stillness of the water 
brought us to Old Forge in -time for the noon train. 
By quick work with the express agent I made it. The 
first newspaper I had recorded the death of that fine 
American, Charles A. Dana, and I realized that an able 
man had passed away. 
Arrived in New York at 10 P. M. Taking up the 
Sunday paper the next morning, I read of the disaster 
on tlie Hudson River Railroad. A whole train had gone 
into the river, and with it the Montreal sleeper that I 
had intended to take. I might have escaped— I might 
not. If not, I could wait patiently with the others for 
the clarion notes of the Angel Gabriel's reveille. 
In relation to guns, they can dispute as to the merits 
of the .22, .25, .30, .40, .45, .50. I am willing to force 
the center with a .38-55 as a flying wedge. A kind of 
"middle-of-the-road pop," as it were. In relation to 
whiskey in the camp, I assert that the whiskey drinker 
is the rear guard on a long tramp; that the partridge is 
out of his bailiwick before he can raise his gun; that 
he does not "saw wood and say nothing;" the fire goes 
out and he talks all the time. Whiskey means locomo- 
tor ataxia for his legs, incipient paresis for his bram. 
Extract of witch-hazel is of far more use. Ring off! 
" W. W. Hastings. 
Nrw York City. 
House-boating under Difficulties. 
House-boating in Maine, up to the present time, has 
not become a craze of her summer saunterers; but some 
observers, to see the proprietor of one that recently came 
under the writer's notice at Isleboro, Me., tied up to an 
old wharf of one of its many picturesque coves, not 
knowing of his success at the business, would deem him 
at least crazy to attempt in his crippled condition such 
hazardous work as it' must be to go from port_ to port 
alone. For he is a used-up man, apparently, having been 
born with a withered leg and arm, and one foot which is 
twisted and deformed, and a mere apology for that part 
of the anatomy, and on land he hobbles about in a very 
laborious manner, and painful to look at. 
W. O. Cottle, the subject of this brief chronicle, is a 
native of Jonesport, Me., and is now a weather-beaten, 
grizzle-bearded, pleasant-spoken man of fifty-five years 
of age. Notwithstanding the handicapping nature has 
saddled him with, he has successfully followed the sea, 
and at one time was first officer of the good schooner Sea 
Breeze, of Ellsworth. He has also served as cook on 
several vessels satisfactorily, and between voyages he has 
learned the shoemaker's trade. Four years ago, having 
become t-00 old for nautical life, as he had found it, he 
says, and somewhat tired of its arduous duties, he con- 
cluded to retire from it, and go house-boating. 
Obtaining the necessary material, he constructed alone, 
unaided, from keelson to truck, a scow 20 by 6, with a 
house on it loft. long, and the width of the craft, and 
christened her with a bucket of pure Penobscot bay brine 
The Yankee Notion ; and though his first attempt in the 
line is a very creditable piece of workmanship, and one 
that is destined to give the house-boat building in Maine 
waters a new impetus; for a number who have seen it 
have already laid their plans to build one. 
The house has a door in each end, which, being lashed 
open, permits him to see through it to steer. She is 
sloop-rigged with two weatherboards on each side, which 
enables her to get to windward quite a distance in a 
day. All of the hoisting tackle leads aft to his seat by the 
tiller, and can be worked without his moving from his 
position. In the house in one corner is a yacht stove. In 
another is a convenient cuddy containing all the articles 
with which to get up a palatable meal, and with the 
tiller becketted his craft steers herself in any ordinary 
wind for hours ; thus giving him ample time to prepare his 
food and discuss it. Another corner contains a bunk in 
which he sleeps with his faithful little dog Snip, who 
has been liis mate the whole four years. 
On one side of the house is a shoemaker's kit, and the 
business part of his cruising is to .go among the islands 
and to anchor at any port that affords a prospect of work, 
and to repair boots and shoes; and in most of his ports 
he has no competition, and he picks up many a dollar. 
The picture accompanying this brief chronicle of a 
man worthy of Clark Russell's pen shows him hauled 
up in winter quarters at Swan's Island. This place was 
his home last winter, and it speaks well for the humanity 
of its inhabitants to know that this unfortunate battler 
for an existence was attended by them through a severe 
attack of the grippe, which confined him to his bunk for 
weeks, and which threatened to end his voyaging, as care-- 
fully as if he was a brother, instead of only a visitor. 
Gens des Bois* 
Guy Bfittell. 
Some men are famous for one thing, some for another. 
Fitzgerald was the only man who ever reached the sum- 
mit of Aconcagua, and Guy Brittcll is the only man who 
ever caught an eel m Deadwater Pond, at the head- 
waters of one of the main sources of the Hudson. In my 
short acquaintance with Guy, I did not see any noticeable 
evidences of pride or vain glory aside from the mention 
of the eel, but when he told of that, the original sin which 
caused the fall of the Angel of Light from Glory mani' 
fested itself. He had done what no other human i)eing 
before or since has done, and nothing could quench hi.'' 
pride in that achievement. 
Guy's claim for recogiiilion fortunately reslf? an a ttoore 
substantial basis. He is one of the Gens des Bois or 
People of the Woods, a man in whom the potent blood of 
mighty foi'efather Nimrod has again had life. A man in 
whom the secret witchei"y of nature works, and who has 
periods of woods insanity when he cannot resist the spell 
of the wilderness. A man, in short, who can never be- 
come thoroughly civilized or come in touch with the com- 
monplace Level of the rest of gregarious humanity. 
Guy is fifty-five years of age, with a capacity for being 
unobtitisive and also a capacitir for commanding attention. 
If the conversation is one which does not interest him 
oiie does not notice his presence in the room. The 
THE YANKEE NOTION IN WINTER QUARTERS. 
He has never met with a mishap worthy of mention 
except once, though he has been obliged to scud her under 
bare poles more than once, and run to leeward. This 
time the staunch Yankee Notion took a notion to maroon 
him, on one of the uninhabited isles he had run her nose 
on, while he stepped ashore to get driftwood for fuel, 
The wind was off shore, and the tide ebbing, and as it 
happened he had moored her insecurely, and a strong puff 
of wind was enough to set her oft', and when he noticed 
it she was 20ft. from the shore. Not wishing to do any 
cruising in this latitude, he plunged in, and kicking out 
gamely with his game leg, he swam to her and got aboard 
before she had gained much headway, and navigated her 
in, where he cast a bowline and a bight around a spruce 
tree that held her till he had wooded up. 
Captain C. says he has a good chance to demonstrate 
the value of fish as a brain food, and means to jot down in 
his log its effects, for he subsists largely on it, and in its 
freshest, purest state. He can cull a mess of edible fish 
from his backyard, so to speak, at any hour, and the 
different localities he visits afford an infinite variety in his 
menu. For instance, mackerel, cod, haddock, pollock, 
lobsters, clams, scallops, periwinkles, mussels; to say 
nothing of the humble flounder, which it is said often 
masquerades as sole. After satisfying the inner man 
from some of the succulent specimens named, he leans 
back on the taffrail with a "fate-cannot-harm-him" air 
worthy of the philosopher that a conversation with this 
mariner leads one to think him to be. 
Capt. Cottle is not able to go aloft now, but could once, 
in spite of his disabilities, and pass the weather earing 
as lively as any mate afloat. Now, when anything gives 
away in that part some one in port must lend a hand and 
help him out, otherwise he is independent of any help but 
that of his own calloused, crippled fingers. He dispenses 
with his crutches when at sea, and supports himself by 
convenient lanyards and the sides of his boat. 
His example is a good lesson for some to contemplate 
who, under more favorable conditions than his, would 
no doubt give up in despair and become charitable charges. 
He is not acquiring wealth at present very fast, he says, 
but obtains enough of it to supply all of his wants, and 
he contents himself with the fact that he is not wasting 
his substance as fast as the average house-boater we 
read of must be obliged to do, and that he takes as much 
solid comfort among the beautiful Penobscot Bay islands 
as the owner of the most palatial steam yacht that plows 
her way around them in nickel-plated splendor, and that 
the boat, tender and sails cost only $50.80, all told. 
E. S. 
Bangor, Me. 
The Forest and Stream Publishing Co. are the largest 
Dublishers and importers in America of Boolcs on Out- 
door Sports. Their illustrated descriptive catalogue 
will be sent fr^ on request. 
gawky teamster, though he says no more than Guy, 
shuffles his feet and clears his throat so that you are al- 
ways conscious of him, but Guy fades into the background 
much as he does when still-liunting. He has in a way the 
powers that the fairy stories tell about, of making Qiie's 
self invisible. 
^(Vhen the subject, however, turns from politics to the dif- 
ference between coon and hedgehog tracks, let us say — 
a matter in which he in interested — Guy takes the leading 
part in the conversation. He is sure to be well informed, 
and his remarks are shrewdly put and to the point. 
Guy is a Jack of all trades. He makes razors from old 
files, and when he finishes the last process of honing them 
on his horny hand the razor is guaranteed to be a good 
job, though perhaps not very fancy with its copper rivet 
and plain cherry wood handle. 
He works in the sawmill at Newcomb just now, but he 
is a veteran of the Civil War, and for years lived in an 
isolated locality near the juncture of the north and south 
branches of the Boquet River, under the shadow of old 
Dix. He was a squatter there, and eventually the owner 
of the land turned him off in order that a hotel, where 
trout suppers and game dinners are the feature, could go 
up on the site of his modest home. 
Trapping with *Lige Simonds. 
Lige Simonds, the man who is said to have killed more 
bear, deer and foxes than any other hunter liv- 
ing in the Adirondacks, used to visit Brittell, and to- 
gether they hunted and trapped on the Boquet. One 
October they killed eleven deer in a few days at the Lower 
Stillwater, with the help of two cur dogs, one a coach 
dog and the other part cocker spaniel. These dogs would 
run a deer a few minutes as if the devil were after it, just 
long enough to get it badly scared, and then give it up and 
return to their master.. The deer generally put for the 
river, and there one of the hunters who was in waiting 
accounted for them. 
Sometimes they got four or five deer a day. Simonds 
had a little log camp built at the, side of a big rock, no 
great distance from the bear wallow. This bear wallow 
lies in the swamp between Lily Pad Pond and the Boquet, 
and is a place where the bears resort in hot weather to 
cool off, wallowing in the black mud like pigs. They 
have worn out a number of holes here, and one may find 
fresh sign at almost any time during the summer. 
Another natural curiosity in the same general neighbor- 
hood is the "laurel bed," where grows a very beautiful 
flowering laurel. The laurel is almost unknown in the 
Adirondacks, at least on the eastern side, and the exact 
location of this bed is not generally known. Guy avers 
that the leaf is very poisonous, and that cattle are killed 
by eating it. ' _ 
From the Lower Stillwater a bear trail runs around the 
west side of the Twin Ponds, and so on to Noonmark. 
Guy and Simonds both had traps set on this trail one 
summer, but while Simonds secured most of the b?ars 
