122 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Aug, 12, i8q9. 
On Orange Mountain. 
Thirty-five years ago it was but a short ride from the 
City Hall to the genuinecoumry, with its green farms, rustic 
population and fera: nahirce. Turning from Broadway at 
the ramshackle pile of market buildings, long since torn 
down to make room for the postoffice, one might take the 
Hoboken ferry and from its terminus seek the picturesque 
seclusion of the Elysian Fields and the more remote 
Palisades; or, if time permitted, drive over Bergen Hill, 
then unpierced by great trunk lines, and after crossing 
the dreary, mosqi:ito-infestcd, malodorous Hackensack 
marshes to Newark, the Oranges and the Bloomfields^ 
enjoy the peaceful quiet of the First and Second moun- 
tains. A favorite route was that of the market garden- 
ers, from Jersey City over the old plank road to Wewark. 
Orange, or First, Mountain had three vantage points 
from which in the long, hot afternoons of summer the 
traveler could look eastward over intervening field, farm 
and forest upon the metropoHs, see the spires of New 
York, watch the white sails lazily moving up and down 
the Passaic — aye, see the ocean- wearied three-masters 
come in through the Narrows and beyond the blue of 
Old Ocean itself. The view was not broken by sky- 
scrapers or by the giant towers of the Brooklyn Bridge. 
The suburban towns of New Jersey had not yet been 
thouglit of, nor were the crest and slope of the mountain 
dotted with the beautiful villas that are to-day its prin- 
cipal decoration. 
Of the three vantage points the tower on the Caldwell 
turnpike was the central. A mile to the north was Wash- 
ington Rock, and two miles to the south Eagle Rock. 
Washington Rock was said to have been the point from 
which the great commander surveyed the British forces 
on his memorable retreat to Morri.stown, and in the vil- 
lage below — Cranestown (Montclair) — is, or was, a tra- 
ditional Washington's headquarters, the room in which 
the- hero slept being an object of much interest in my 
boyhood days. 
Eagle Rock was the most prominent of the elevations. 
In those days it was approached by a rough trail, that it 
was considered quite a feat to climb. Even the heights 
of the Rockies, Cascades and Sierras have never had 
quite the zest for me that Eagle Rock once possessed. 
The name was given more than half a century ago, the 
occasion being the finding of an eagle's nest in its cl'efts. 
Llewellvn Park had just been laid out, and near the foot 
of the rock Mr. Haskell had built "The Eyrie." I well 
remember that Mr. Haskell's views were not considered 
"orthodox" by his Calvanistic neighbors and he was re- 
garded by the young folk as a very mysterious man. In 
fact, many of the early dwellers in the lovely park were 
men and women of "advanced" thought, with whom the 
godly farmers had naught in common. Strange, isn't it, 
how times change? The daily Sabbath quiet was unbro- 
ken by the whistling of rival engines. ICnee-breeches 
and queues were still worn by the very old men. There 
was the music of the whetted scythe, the creaking of the 
cider press, the dull thud of the flail. 
Village life was very, very quiet. At Cranestown the 
two village stores, where everything was sold, had their 
full quota of loafers, who assembled on the advent of 
the daily mail to discuss war news and condemn some 
of the neighboring gentry of supposed "Copperhead" 
proclivities. In these gatherings were always to be found 
a few negroes who remembered slavery days in New 
Jersey and who still clung to cabin life. Sometimes a 
wagon bearing a long pine box covered with a flag 
would pass along the turnpike on its way to some more 
remote hamlet, and we vaguely knew that another of our 
boys in blue had answered his last roll-call in the marshes 
of the James or the beautiful valley of the Shenandoah. 
There was the tavern, with its creaking, swinging sign, 
kept by Capt. Munn, and in the barroom, where pure 
applejack was the principal beverage, Uncle Billy Siglai*, 
William Speer and other worthies of rod and gun met 
to talk, over the latest pigeon shoot at Pine Brook, a 
coon hunt, or the snipe prospects on the marshes. There 
were wild pigeons and coons and possums in those days. 
Our wood rambles invariably commenced with Wash- 
itlgton's birthday, at which time the hepaticas in the 
moist sheltered nooks beneath Eagle Rock commenced 
to bloom. A little later came the violets and jack-in-the- 
pulpits. By Easter we found the fragrant, showy orchis 
and the ladj^-slipper, dogwood, azalea, the spring floral 
catalogue ending with the bloom of the rare magnolia 
glauca, found near Short Hills. When we did not gather 
(lowers we would study the nesting birds and watch the 
fishhawks sailing homeward over the hills to some re- 
mote pine, carrying their infants' breakfast in their beaks. 
When the summer vacation came our excursions would 
frequently lead to the little brook that rose near Verona 
and meandered through the shady meadows, between 
/First and Second mountains, emptying into the Passaic 
near Little Falls. Botany presses were exchanged for 
fishing tackle, and in the mill-ponds— for there were old 
and picturesque mills along our course — we would angle 
for suckers and an occasional eel. Where the waters 
hurried and swirled over sand and pebbles we would sit 
for hours and throw out little sunfish with more enjoy- 
ment than we now find in casting flies for 3lb. trout. 
Or, if we simply loafed, we revelled in the flaunting 
sjlories of the cardinal flowers, in the song of the bobo- 
link, in the pictures in the clouds, or, perchance, hunted 
sandpipers' nests on what we termed " the shore." 
It was when the slopes of Orange Mountain were 
painted with the crimson of the maple and the old gold 
of the chestnut; when there was the haze of Indian sum- 
mer as the days grew shorter; when the wild grapes pur- 
pled and the jay chattered and the corn was bemg 
shocked; when 
" All sights were mellowed and all sounds subdued, 
The lulls seemed further and the stream sang low ; 
As in a dream, the distant woodman hewed 
His winter's log with many a muffled blow," 
-hat life seemed most worth the living. Then, in addi- 
tion to the never-forgotten schoolboy's lunch, we took 
sacks for nuts and the old muzzleloader and shot pouch 
iind powder flask, with never a. thought about yesterday 
nor a care for the morrow. An early breakfast would be 
the order and then, heedless of field or fence, we would 
strike the timber at the foot of the mountain where were 
great groves of butternuts and black walnuts, and where 
saucy red squirrels chattered as men'ily as ourselves. 
Both walnuts and red squirrels were too common to be 
interesting. Higher we strolled, warm but never weary. 
Sometimes a partridge would whir up so suddenly as to 
startle us, and the unready gun would only hasten his 
flight to pastures new; and again a too confiding cotton- 
tail would stop to look at us, and as a result would find 
a resting place in the capacious bag. Stopping occasion- 
ally to look down upon the autumn picttu'e to the east, 
we reached' the level summit. Here the triple-ovuled 
chestnut burrs, opened by the early frosts, and great, soft- 
shelled shagbarks, peered from half naked branches wait- 
ing to be threshed. On the upland clearing the farmer 
dug his late potatoes, and along the oak-rail fence, buried 
in asters, in goldenrods and russet brambles, the border 
of his little patch, gray squirrels dared us to a test of 
marksmanship. Nor, in the mountain marshes, was the 
woodcock quite a stranger. 
Beside some crystal brook or beneath some grateful 
shade of orchard, where the air was heavy with the in- 
cense of fallen apples, we would eat our lunch and count 
our trophies o'er and feast upon the promised pleasures 
of the afternoon. Then homeward bound, we would re- 
trace our morning's wanderings, nor note the flight of 
time until sweet, shadowy evening stole upon us una- 
wares. Proudly did we lay down our childlike store of 
nuts and game, happy in the encomiums we received, and, 
supper done, we found the healthful sleep that only tired 
boys can properly appreciate. 
What of the companions of the long ago? What of 
my friend who traveled hj my side, who initiated me into 
the mysteries of the breechloader and who taught me 
how to hunt the wily partridge with as noble a setter as 
ever stood to scent? The worry and the toil of the great 
vortex of business life drew him in, and now he wanders 
in the silent land. What of the neighbor lad, who loved 
the wild flowers as he loved his friends? I used to see 
his name in Forest and Stream, signed to sketches 
from far Samoa. Too harsh for him, with his hopes and 
ideals, was the cruel competition of a careless world. 
He, too. has his name on the ever-lengthening roll of the 
departed. One after another has gone; even the old 
mountain has changed its face to suit another age. It 
would be painful for me to revisit it. 
Shoshone. 
Yukon Notes. 
Farewell to Fort Selkirk. 
(Continued from page 83.) 
Mac and I said good-by to Mr. Pitts the night of 
Dec. 30, 1897. We packed our sleds that night and the 
following morning had breakfast and were off before the 
first sign of dawn. Barton's party were feeding their 
dogs and almost ready to start as we passed their cabin. 
We would have liked to have traveled in their company, 
but men pulling sleds cannot hope to keep up with dog 
teams on long journeys. 
Mr. Pitts' cabin was unlighted and the only sign of 
life was the wolfish sledge dogs curled up in the snow 
by the front door. These dogs lie out in all weathers. 
With fifty below their fur becomes white with the hoar , 
frost and they twist themselves into the most compact 
balls imaginable and bury their noses in their thick fur 
coats to keep them from freezing. When the dogs first 
lie down they wriggle around sometimes for five minutes 
before they succeed in getting satisfactory positions, but 
after that they rest without moving for hours at a time. 
Beyond Pitts' cabin we passed the store, with the faded 
paper notice still tacked to the door, stating that as no 
steamer had visited the post for two years and no suppUes 
were for sale with the exception of a little condensed 
milk. The first lean travelers of the gold rush had taken 
the condensed milk, but the notice had not been changed. 
Beside it was another which informed the public that 
the usual dried salmon dog feed could not be supplied 
and that beef heads and offal would be furnished instead. 
We knew that the store contained a large supply of val- 
uable furs, including sable and black and silver fox skins, 
and that besides this there was a small amount of dry 
goods for the Indian trade. The white men who per- 
suaded Pitts to open up for them to look over the stock 
had a hard time to find anything to buy. Some of them 
would take the agent into a corner and give him a jolly 
such as this: "Now, old man, you've known me for three 
years. I ain't no cheechako, see. Where's them beans 
you're going to let me have? Money ain't no object 
and you know blanked well I've got the dust. Just put 
lolbs. in this sack and leave it by the corner of the shack 
where I can get it without nobody seeing, and if there's 
a quid of chewing left or a squid of bacon, just put them 
in, too. Savvy?" 
To which Pitts would reply in a colorless, weary tone: 
"I couldn't let you have ten beans for lolbs. of gold. 
There's no food on the place for sale, and all the gold in 
the Klondike couldn't buy any. 
Mr. Pitts was sensitive on the subject, and he dislked 
beyond anything to refuse food. He did not show it. 
however, and his manner was sometimes mistaken, and 
he was accused of being indifferent and heartless. 
Some of the men who came along cursed everything 
from their dogs— poor brutes— to the terribly silent moun- 
tains that walled in the river, and such men naturally 
cursed Pitts. 
"This man keeps a store and has nothing to sell." they 
said. "What's it all for if it isn't just to spite us!" And 
they threatened all kinds of bodily violence to the agent. 
It was commonly believed that Mr. Pitts had supplies 
which he was concealing for fear of a still more pressing 
demand later on. or else holding for exorbitant prices: 
but as a matter of fact he was by this time out of every- 
thing except an extremely limited supoly for his own 
personal needs. To his honor be it said thai he did not 
attempt to take advantage of opportunities afforded for 
selling food at extravagant prices. As long as any sup- 
pHes remained he sold them at the regular valuation of 
the country, and at that time a poor man would not have 
been turned away hungry for the rea.son thfit he had no 
money. . _ 
Beyond the store we came to the levee-Hke river bank, 
and holding on to the backs of our sleds coasted dowil 
on to the ice of the river. Mr. Pitts still had a water 
hole open in the ice, though it kept one of the Indian 
boys busy with an ice chisel to prevent its closing up. 
We passed the line of Indian cabins on the bank above, 
each with its elevated cache, where were stored not only 
the meat and provisions of the family, but also the para- 
phernalia of the chase, snowshoes and toboggans; and 
last of all Dalton's corral and abattoir, with its wooden 
chute for lowering the carcasses of' slaughtered beeves 
to the rafts that were to convey them to Dawson. 
The Ice Trail. 
In front, to the south, ran the ice trail through a 
country barren of supplies for a distance equal to that 
which separates New York city from Quebec, Canada. 
The journey was hard enough at best, but without dogs it 
involved a danger from starvation that was unpleasant 
to contemplate. Few men on long journeys have the 
strength to pull more than their ow,n weight of camp 
outfit and provisions. Blankets, tent and stove make up 
a large proportion of the load, the ratio to the food vary- 
ing according as the man fears most death by starvation 
or freezing. Hard work and the intense cold give rav- 
enous appetites, and under the circumstances it is no won- 
der that few of the hand-sledding parties got through, to 
the coast on the strength of the supplies they carried on 
starting. The remarkable thing is that any got through 
at all and that death from starvation was not common. 
The trail was over an almost continuous ice jam from 
the start up to the lakes, and it was as rough in most 
places as ice packs on the frozen Polar ocean, judging 
from photographs. The fact that a large number of men 
made the journey without the aid of dogs and traveled a 
distance greater than that which has separated Arctic ex- 
plorers from the Pole would lead one to believe that the 
trip to the Pole is by no means an impossible undertak- 
ing. A well-broken dog team and a month's supply of 
provisions should enable a man under favorable condi- 
tions to reach the pole from latitude 82 degrees. The 
team will carry him there, and for the return trip, if his 
supplies are gone, he can pull his own sled and eat dog. 
The cold endured by Arctic travelers is not as a rule 
greater than that borne by the returning Klondikers. It 
is a well-known fact that in winter there are two pole,s 
or regions of greatest cold, the one in northern Siberia 
and the other to the north of the American continent. 
On the ocean between these points the fall in temperature 
is never so great. De Long on the Jeannette in the win- 
ter of 1879-80 recorded no temperature lower than 53>4 
below zero, while 40 below was rather exceptional cold. 
He reached a northing of 78 north latitude, only 840 
miles from the Pole. 
If some of the nervy, enterprising fellows who have 
been on the Yukon of late years and traveled thousands 
of miles with their dog teams with only occasional bases 
of supplies coidd be carried by vessel to within 600 miles 
of the place where latitude ends and turned loose, some- 
thing woidd happen. 
According to Mr. Pitts" count 340 men had passed 
Fort Selkirk on their way to the coast up to the last of 
December. Among the first were a number of parties 
unprovided with dogj; but later, as the snow grew deeper 
on the ice and the pulling became harder, the men who 
drew their own sleds became more and more the excep- 
tion, and after the time of our start I onlj'^ know of one 
other party that went out without dogs. The rush of 
travel had passed, and it was too late to think of making 
arrangements to join in with another party. Consequent- 
ly, at the start, we had to make up our minds to dispense 
with stove and tent. With the average hand-sledging 
party oAe stove and one tent sufficed for half a dozen men. 
The weight of blankets could be reduced, for with stove 
and tent and some one awake all night to keep the iirc 
going, no great amount of covering was necessary. 
As there were only two of us we could not have both 
ered to stay awake to attend to the fire at night, even if 
we could have afforded to leave behind provisions of a 
weight equivalent to the stove and tent. We started with 
seven pairs of blankets and one caribou skin, besides n 
Kenwood sleeping bag; but before passing the Big Sal- 
mon we had thrown away three pairs of blankets and 
had grown so immured to the cold that we could sleep 
comfortably under four or five thicknesses. I got my 
rabbit-skin robe later on. Blankets are not a satisfactory 
protection from severe cold. One can feel the cold cir- 
culating through the pores and has to be careful not to 
freeze his nose and extremities in bed. To get the bene- 
fit of mutual warmth we sewed the blankets along the 
edges, making a double sleeping bag large enough for 
both of us. 
Mac and I slept out tliis way during the month of 
January, and never on any occasion kept a camp-fire in 
all night. We experienced some very low temperatures 
and were uncomfortably shivery once in a while, but on 
the whole we did well, and we came out in the end in first- 
class physical condition. 
The Pioneer River Steamer. 
Three miles above Fort Selkirk the Barton party over- 
took us and passed with their two dog teams. The wind 
was blowing a gale from the south, and though we man- 
aged to keep up with them and followed close behind, 
their trail breaking benefited us very little, for the snow 
blew and filled the track the instant they had passed. At 
the time they came up with us I had turned aside a few 
minutes from the trail to photograph a historic old river 
steamboat which lay back in thewoods just off a slough 
forty or fifty rods from the river. The high water in the 
river three years before had left her stranded, and efforts' 
to launch her had proved unavailing. The boat was a 
small stern-wheeler of the Mississippi River type. The: 
name Polly adorned boards on either side of her pilot, 
house, but we were told that she had only borne thi.^i' 
name for a short time before being stranded, and that she 
was the original New Packet, one of the first, if not the. 
very first, .steamboats that ever bucked against the tire- 
less" current of the Yukon. 
When Ed. Schieffelin, the founder of Tombstone, Ariz. 
■ the man who made a million and died a pauper — made 
his famous prospecting trip up the Yukon to prove his 
theory of a mineral belt encircling tlie world, he char- 
tered this boat, and later, in "starvation year" — 1889— 
when the Arctic wfis wrecked and as a re^ull v-, 
