182 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 2, iSpg. 
A Pull to Windward, 
Almost forty years ago I was one of the crew of tile 
bark Visiori, of New Bedford. She was a neat, tidy 
craft, of some 300 tons, with a mixed crew of Americans, 
Portuguese and Kanakas, like the majority of whale- 
ships at that time. Capt. Camp, wlio commanded the 
Vision, was a young man, but his energy and integrity 
had won him a good position at a ver}'^ early date. Mrs. 
Camp, who accompanied her husband, was a lady, edu- 
cated and refined. She seemed strangely out of place 
on a whalcship. She was beloved and respected by all, 
and in her quiet, unobtrusive way exerted a marked 
influence on our motley crowd. 
We had cruised about the Pacific for some two years, 
getting perhaps our share of sperm oil, visiting a few 
ports on the west coast of South America for letters, and 
occasionally calling at some island for wood and water. 
As soon as the a^nchor was down the waistboat would 
be called away to carry Mrs. 
Camp and the captain ashore, 
It became so much a fact that 
Mrs, Camp invariably spoke 
of the waistboat's crew as "her 
boys"; and there was always 
a generous rivalry' to see who 
would carry her • ashore 
through the surf. It generally 
fell to the stroke oarsman, per- 
haps because he had the long- 
est legs. Then if any one 
found a curious shell or a rare 
flower it was treasured for her. 
Of a consumptive tendency, 
it was thought a sea voyage 
would do her good; but after 
the first year we all could see 
that she slowly but surely 
failed. The daily walk on 
deck became shorter and slow- 
er, the thin hands grew thin- 
ner still, the hectic flush and 
the wan, weary smile told more 
plainly than words that the end 
was near. 
About this time we fell in 
with the bark Congo, Capt. 
Everett. Capt. Everett and 
Capt. Camp were old ship- 
mates, and Mrs. Everett, who 
was with her husband, was an 
old schoolmate of Mrs. Camp. 
Of course this made the situ- 
ation pleasant in the extreme, 
and Mrs. Camp seemed to have 
acquired a new lease of life. 
But it was the excitement of 
meeting with old friends that 
gave her momentary strength, 
and verj' soon she was seen 
to be failing more rapidly than 
ever. 
Under the circumstances it 
was deemed advisable to go 
into some still bay and try if 
the quiet of an anchorage 
would be anj' help to the in- 
valid. Accordingly both craft 
joined their forces for a sea- 
son's hump-backing, the Vi- 
sion with both ladies and one 
boat's crew to lie at anchor, 
while the Congo, with a ma- 
jority of the men, was to at- 
tend to the whaling. 
But perhaps it would be as 
well to explain what is meant 
by the term "hump-backing." 
There is a whale of the bone 
species called hump-back. The 
oil is inferior, while the bone 
is so short as to be commer- 
cially worthless. Yet they are 
so easy to capture at the breed- 
ing season that many ships are 
in the habit of "hump-backing" 
every season or so, to pick up 
liberty money. 
During the breeding season 
the whales are almost as tame 
as domestic cattle. The cows are the ones sought after, 
for, contrary to the sperm whale, the cows are much the 
largast and yield the most oil, besides being easier to 
capture. 
Our preparations being all completed, we came to 
anchor in a large bay to the southward of Guayaquil. 
After our arrival at anchorage Mrs. Camp seemed to 
gain strength. She would sit on deck most of the time, 
and made many little excursions ashore, where she seemed 
to take much interest in the profusion of birds and 
flowers, for which that portion of the coast is famed. 
We had been in the bay some two weeks with fair 
success in whaling, when Mrs. Camp seemed to lose her 
strength again, and grew more listless than ever. Capt. 
Camp did not seem to realize how near the end was, but 
the crew (Mrs. Camp's boys) were quick to note the 
change. They spoke with hushed voices, and came and 
went with noiseless steps. Mrs. Everett was almost con- 
tinually with her friend; and everything that love and 
kindness could prompt was done — but all in vain, 
One Saturday Mrs. Everett had gone on board of 
the Congo to see about her husband's clothing, the 
Congo at that time being about five to six miles north 
of the Vision, and both vessels about five miles off shore. 
The wind, usually southwest and very uniform, had 
backed to south, and was blowing half a gale. The sea 
soon got up, Sunday morning was the first really bad 
weather we had seen in the bay, and all day Sunday the 
gale grew worse, Mrs. Camp was failing rapidly. She 
wanted Mrs,, Everett, but the wind and .sea were so bad 
she would not listen to sending for her. "The wind will 
go down with the sun, Fred," she said to her husband, 
"and then my boys will go and get Abbie." 
But the wind did not go down; on the contrary, it 
blew harder, and at 8 o'clock it was blowing too hard 
for anything but a whaleboat to face. At 8:30 she roused 
somewhat from her stupor. "Fred, won't you please ask 
my boys to bring Abbie to me?" 
The waistboat's crew were ready, and not only ready, 
but anxious to do anything in their power for the little 
woman who was dying there— dying so bravely, almost 
alone, and still so much of a lady as to prefer a request 
when it might have been a command. 
The boat, which had been riding at the end of a long 
painter, was hauled alongside. Watching their chance 
as the boat rose and fell on the sea, sometimes up to the 
rail, sometimes on a level with the keel, they tumbled 
in. "Let go! out oars!" and away they go to leeward like 
a scared wolf. 
Now, just a word as to that boat's crew of six men. 
Frank, the harpooner, was a Western Island Portuguese, 
short and slight, but nervous and hard as iron. Dick, 
the bow oarsman, a wiry little Verraonter. Big- John, 
They were pulling for love, and they knew that the little 
woman who was sitting wrapped up in oilskins in the 
stern sheetls must be got to the side of her dying friend. 
The stroke says through his teeth: "Boys, you've got it 
to do; Hft 'er hard." 
And when they had got Mrs. Everett on the Vision's 
deck and their boat veered astern they clustered around 
the break of the poop, anxious to know if she still lived. 
The steward came on deck. "What is it, steward? Is she 
alive? Did she know Mrs. Everett?" 
"Yes, she is alive, but sinking fast. She just said, 'Oh, 
Abbie! God bless my boys!' "' 
And the boys, uncouth, unkempt, tatterdemalions as 
they were, were crying like children. Tarpon. 
ANDREW DOWNS. 
In his seventy-ninth year. 
midship oar, a Portuguese from Western Islands, of 
immense strength, and with the endurance of a machine. 
John Twine, tub oarsman, was a South Sea Islander, and 
as good a man as ever stepped in a boat. The stroke 
oar was pulled by a long-armed, down East Yankee, who 
had such control over the rest of the crew that they 
v/ere ready to lift the boat out of the water at his word. 
The ofiicer in charge, Mr. W., was a typical Nantucket 
whaleman, and a man who was very economical of words, 
leaving it to his stroke to do the talking. It does not 
take a whaleboat long to make live miles to leeward in 
such a gale as was blowing that night, and they were 
soon alongside the Congo. Mrs. Everett was expecting 
a call, and was all ready; but how co.uld they get her 
into the boat without breaking bones or staving the boat? 
The long stroke oarsman of the waistboat solved the 
problem. Standing uo in the stern sheets he shouts: 
"Jump and I'll catch you!" Mrs. Everett was a sailor's 
wife. She stands on the rail supported by her husband. 
As the boat rises almost to her feet she makes a flying 
jump and the stroke has her fast. "Let go! out oars!" 
And now the boys* find they have something to fight. 
Says stroke: "Boys, nothing but grit and muscle will 
win to-night; you've got 'em. Give way!" Oh, that 
long, weary pull. Many times it seemed they were 
being blown to leeward; but with set teeth and bent 
backs they fought on. The long, steady whaleman's 
stroke, the dogged, indomitable grit, began to count. Yet 
it seemed an age, when the second mate opens his mouth: 
"I see a light, boys; pull hard." They were pulling hard. 
A Midsummer Journey.— I, 
After an outing of a month's duration I find myself 
once more in my den, and before the letter mail is dis- 
posed of I cannot resist the temptation to use the paper 
knife on the stack of Forest and Streams that has 
awaited my arrival. In the issue of Aug. 12 I find a 
kindly comment from our 
Nestor, Von W., and a query 
as to the Rocky Mountain 
columbine. It is of the same 
genus (Aquilegia) as the New- 
England flower (A. canaden- 
sis), but is larger, longer- 
spurred and varies in color 
from deep purple to a snowy 
white. Botanically it is A. 
caerulea. It flourishes at an 
altitude of about 8,oooft. on 
shaded hillsides. In the south- 
ern part of Utah and in Ari- 
zona and New Mexico it gives 
place to the golden columbinc 
(A. chrysantha). Perhaps it is 
taecause our flora is so different 
from that of the East that I 
am especially partial to the col- 
(■ umbine. We have no rhodo- 
'1 dendron. laurel, azalea, jack-in- 
the-pulpit, showy orchis, wake- 
robin, fringed gentian — scarce- 
ly any of our boyhood friends, 
and the columbine, aside from 
its rare beauty, always carries 
a sweet, homelike suggestion 
with it. 
There seems to be a kinship 
between the old-time contrib- 
utors to Forest and Stream 
that the years make stronger 
ere "ever the silver chord be 
loosed, or the golden bowl be 
broken, or the pitcher be 
broken at the fountain, or the 
Avheel be broken at the cis- 
tern." One by one we find it 
easier to stroll down the hill 
than to climb a mountain; to 
sit by the fire and dream of the 
past than to struggle with old 
Boreas and follow the trail on 
a blacktailed buck. And yet 
we never grow old, Dame 
Nature is wondrous kind to 
those of us who learned to love 
her in the long ago. Some- 
how she smooths our pathways 
toward the setting sun. 
I am sorry that El Comancho' 
has got that boy of his back 
to civilization. The "kid" will 
surely want to go wanderitig 
again. He has the fever, and 
is not chained to business, so 
he will give his faithful biog- 
rapher the slip and become a 
knight-errant on his own ac- 
count. 
"Despoiling Berkshire Trout 
Waters" is a melancholy title. 
The headwaters of the Housa- 
tonic used to afford the best of 
sport, the little brooks of South 
Adams and South William.s- 
town that sprang from the foot 
of Greylock being literally 
alive with fish. The same was 
I _ true of most of the streams 
east of the mountains between Pownal and Rutland. In 
the old days there were two stage lines irom Rutland to 
Woodstock, one by what then seemed a wild and tor- 
tn.ous road, taking in the magnificent scenery of KiUing- 
ton and Pico. The other route was easier. It went 
through Tyson Furnace, by Plymouth ponds to Bridge- 
water. The brooks back of Killington were famous for 
their trout, and good sport could be had at the little 
lakes near Tyson, but I suppose that these streams are 
now in the same condition as those of Berkshire county. 
All this is hardly a suitable ifitroduction to a midsummer 
trip in Utah and Colorado, but life is made up largely of 
changes and contrasts, and these New England notes have 
sent me "wool gathering." 
Of all the camping parties that I have ever traveled with 
this was apparently the most incongruous as to makeup, 
and yet from the beginning to the end of the trip there 
was not the slightest friction of any kind, though we 
numbered the unlucky thirteen. Business was combined 
with pleasure, for the four men were interested, two 
heavily and two slightly, in the copper, gold and gilson- 
ite propo-sitions of eastern Utah and western Coforado. 
King, Sr.. capitaHst; King, Jr., just returned from Ger- 
many with his bride; Prof. Brimfull, with his daughter 
and three sons; King, Sr.'s two little girls; two school- 
marms and Shoshone answered the rool call when we left 
Provo in two heavy wagons, one surrey and accom- 
panied by extra saddle horses. I wished to do consid- 
erable work in ornithology, and so, not having time to 
load, picked up all the 12-gauge shells that I could pro- 
