624 
FOHi£t5'i AND STREAM. 
[tkc. 30, 1899. 
jfire and make the best of it till morning." 
After a while the moon came up so we could see it, and 
it was in the opposite direction irom where we had been 
looking for it. , JBut I soon founds out what was the 
matter. 
"i>ot>^ we are on the opposite side of the lake from 
where we left our clothes and fire." 
"Oh, no. It is a good ways across it," 
"Well, you stand facmg the moon, and the lake is on 
your left" 
*;Yes." 
"We left our clothes on the same side that the camp is 
on, and when we are at camp, wnen the moon comes up 
you stand facing it and the lake is on your right." 
"You are rignt, Billy. We have got to stay here till 
daylight." 
_ And a long night it was. We got sleepy and tried to 
, lie down and cover ourselves up with green boughs to 
keep the skeeters off; but the ground was pretty hard 
without even the protection of a pair of pants. After 
lying on the ground awhile we would get up and there 
would be the prints of the boughs in our llesh. 
We kept a good fire and watched for daylight, which 
seemed as though it never would come. But at last the 
birds began to chirrup and we knew that day would soon 
break. As soon as we could see we started to find our 
clothes* We set out straight across the swamp, and had 
not gone far before we saw a big catfish, and speared 
him and then Avent on. We happened to strike the right 
place, and found our clothes and everything just as we 
had left them. The log had not burnt much, and the fire 
must have gone out within an hour after we left it. We 
put on our clothes and started for camp. When we got 
to camp the boys wanted to know where we had been. 
We said we had fished till we got, tired, and then camped 
till morning. 
"Oh," they said, "you and Bob were lost., or you 
wouldn't have stayed in that place all night." We owned 
up that we had been lost, but did not tell for a long lime 
what a night we had put in. 
The next morning the team and all the boys except Bob 
and me went home. We had made up our minds to go 
back that night and try it again till about 10 o'clock, and 
then start for home, so I could get home before the fish 
would spoil. As soon as the boys had gone we got the 
old scow and went fishing. We fished till about 11 o'clock 
and had a fine lot of trout and perch, and ought then to 
have gone home satisfied; but we wanted to try for those 
buffalo suckers again. 
I took all the fish except what we wanted for dinner 
and put them in a sack with a bush in it to keep it spread 
out, and put them in the water to keep alive till we wcut 
home. We cleaned some of the smallest ones and broiled 
them over hot coals, made some coffee and had a good 
dinner, and then sat down in the shade to have a good 
smoke. 
About 6 o'clock we cleaned all the fish, saddled up our 
ponies and started for the upper end of the lake, so as to 
get there before dark. We found an open glade not far 
from the old log where we had built the fire the night 
before. We hitched the ponies in the glade and then 
started a big fire. As soon as it was dark we took off our 
shoes and pants and went in the water, I took the bottle 
of oil this time, and Bob took his six-shooter. But the 
lamp gave a poor light ; we had to make new wicks after 
burning the old ones up the night before. We could not 
see the fish till they swam off. We did not get out of sight 
of the fire. After fishing about an hour and only getting 
two, I says, "Let us go home." 
So we went to the fire, dressed, got our ponies and 
started for home about 10 o'clock at night. I had about 
eighteen miles to go, and Bob twelve. We were going 
to keep together till we got to his place, then I had to go 
the rest of the way alone. We could have waited till 
morning, but then it would be so hot before we could get 
home the fish would ?poil. 
So we started, Bob ahead with the lamp on his head 
so we could see. We followed the trail to our old camp- 
ing place, and then took a trail that led us to the prairie, 
and then put out the light and started for the hills, where 
we would find a road we would take home. We were 
both very sleepy, as we had not had a good night's sleep 
since we left home. After we got on the prairie I went to 
sleep on the pony, and the pony stumbled and nearly 
threw me off, and woke me up. We lit our pipes, and 
that helped to keep us awake. But it was no use ; we 
could not stay awake; and after nearly falling off the 
pony two or three times, I said: "It is no use, Bob; I 
can't keep awake." 
"Nor me, either," .«aid Bob. "Let us lie down some- 
where and sleep awhile, and then start again." So we 
hitched the ponies, lay down and went to sleep. It was 
nearly daylight when we woke up. I got home about g 
o'clock, and went to bed and slent all day and all night. 
There are several hundred miles between Bob and me 
now, but I hear from him once in a while. The last Lime 
he wrote he said: "Say, Billy, do you remember the 
night we were lost in the swamp?" Well. I think I do. 
Still Hunter. 
The Adirondack Deer Law. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In one of your recent issues I saw a letter from Mr. J. 
B. Burnham in regard to the breaking of the game laws, 
hounding, etc., in Essex county. 
I spent a considerable tim.e in that part of the Adiroii- 
dacks last summer and fall, and would like to certify as 
to the correctness -of Mr. Burnham's statements. 
On one occasion I took a forty-mile drive through the 
northeast portion of the county, and during that drive I 
disjtinctly heard hounds in full cry several tim.es, and 
they were certainly not Game Protector (?) Beede's 
hounds of the law searching out game lawbreakers... 
.I. dq npt think that it would be an exaggeration to Say 
that" a'' large number of the houses owned by natives, that 
I passe4, during the course of three months spent in the 
deifjr qipuntry, had their quota of deer hounds, to say 
nothing of liqks placed in prominent runwavs. 
i ' H. B, Walmsley. 
The Forest and Stream is put to press each week on Tuesday. 
Correspondence intended for publication should reach us at the 
latest- by- Monday and as much earlier as practicable. 
The Secret of It» 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
"1 never yet met with a sportsman who could tell me 
in what the sport consisted, who could resolve it into its 
principle and state that principle. 1 have been a great 
follower of fishing myseif, and in its cheerful soatude 
have passed some of the happiest hours of a sufticiently 
happy life; but to this moment I could never trace out 
the source of the pleasure which it artorded me." 
So wrote Dr. Win. Jt'aley, the learned phnosopher and 
divine, a century ago. Ihe many happy hours of his 
"sutticiently happy life" were all expended many years 
agone. His generation and the generations ol nshes 
with which he was so happily associated have long since 
passed off the stage, other generations of hsherinen 
and fishes have played their brief parts in life's comedy 
and tragedy, and passed away. Their mortal bodies 
have in turn dissolved into their constituent elements, 
which may in turn have entered into the constitution of 
other fishermen and other fishes. And we, in this gen- 
eration of fishermen and sportsmen, are left to grapple 
with the same problem that baliled the wise JJr. iraiey 
and the sportsmen of his day — wherein does the sport 
of sportsmanship consist? 
The question is one that cannot be answered in a 
word, nor in a dozen words. Still it is one that appears 
not to be unanswerable, as the wise old doctor seems 
to assume. 
The sum total of that which goes to make up the en- 
joyment afforded by field sports' is a bundle of complex 
elements, and it is the purpose of this article to essay 
the task of resolving these elements by the method of 
analysis into intelligible form, to "resolve it into its 
principle, and state that principle," and to search out the 
marrow that is within its bones. 
First, the proposition is laid down that the pleasure 
which the sportsman enjoys from 'nis day of sport in the 
field is derived chiefly not from the incidents of the day 
as they occur, but in anticipation, and in retrospection 
thereof. 
The p]e,-3sure of anticipation must of course be based 
upon preceding expe'riences, else there would be no basis 
for the anticipation. 
It is a common trait of human nature that pleasure is 
enjoyed mOre in anticipation than in realization, but the 
maxim that embodies this principle has a specially force- 
ful application to the pleasures of the sportsman. As the 
day approaches for his "outing" the preparations to be 
made afford him pleasure. He confers perhaps with 
friends, who are to be his companions, about these prep- 
arations, in the course of which conference there are 
opportunities to expatiate upon the virtues of his gun 
and dogs or other appliances, and to swap reminiscences 
of former hunts or fi.shing excursions, all of which are 
sources of enjoyment. 
This phase of the matter under discussion could be 
m.uch amplified here, but every reader of this can readily 
clothe the above skeleton to suit his own fancy or cir- 
cumstances. 
Another element of enjoyment, both in anticipation 
and in reminiscent contemplation, lies in the possession 
of efficient appliances and in the care bestowed upon 
them, be they animate or inanimate, and in the feeling 
of affection that is engendered in the mind of the pos- 
sessor toward these his pet possessions. His conscious 
ability to use these appliances with skill and effectiveness 
enters also as a factor. 
Still another element of the enjoyment that a sports- 
man extracts from his sport consists in the matching 
of his skill and superior intelligence against the in- 
stinctive faculties of self-preservation — the elusive cun- 
ning of the objects of his pursuit, especially when he 
calls to his aid the instinctive proclivities of the dog, 
which has been trained by him to his service. Another 
important element in the pleasure of the sportsman 
consists in the acquisition by his skill and enterprise of 
something that is useful and desirable to possess, some- 
thing to be exhibited with pride and shared with his 
family raid friends. When the good and wise Dr. Paley 
wrote the paraofranh that heads this article, if he could 
h^ve rp'-j'i'pd the feeline of boyish pride and exultation 
with which he displayed his first resplendent trout to his 
admiring mother and sisters, he could not have been at 
so great loss to "resolve into its principle" that mysteri- 
ous and complex combination of feelins-s which we rec- 
ognize as the pleasure of sportsmanship. 
The writer can well remember now the feelings of 
exultation when, nearly fifty years ago, he brought home 
in triumph his first three squirrels, to be laid at the feet 
of his mother and to receive the plaudits of herself, to- 
gether with those of his "cousins and his sisters and his 
aunts," without which there would have_ been no grand 
culminating moment at the close of this day of great 
achievements, and memory would not now cling with 
fond tenacity to that momentous event in his boyhood's 
career. 
And now we come to that most imoortant eletttetit of 
the enjoyment that is derived from field sports — the basic 
principle that underlies the problem and enters inost 
largely into its solution, which is hereditary instinct 
The same instinct that impels the dog to aid the man 
also impels the man to follow the dog. The human 
race was born and nurtured in the lap of nature. It 
passed a long period of childhood upon her ample 
bosom, receiving its sustenance from her generous 
paps. Nature provided man his larder and trained him 
in the ways to avail himself of her bounty. Like the 
domestic dog who no longer finds it necessary to pur- 
sue game for a living, but does pursue it with intense 
delight; like the household cat, who is abundantly fed 
by the haneTof her mistress, but still pursues mice and 
birds for pastime and gives early lessons to her kittens 
in her own artful ways; like the horse, who still fears 
the spring of lion or tiger from the wayside stump, when 
all danger from such a source has long since passed-; 
like the hog, who still surnmons his fellows to his aid 
by loud appeals, when attacked; like the cows, who rush 
together from all directions and with much excitement 
at the smell of the blood of one of their kind— so man, in 
obedience to the same instinct, easily foisakes the arti- 
ficial paths of civilization and finds keen enjoyment and 
a sense of welcome freedom at the skirts of his. fir&t, 
great mother — nature. 
Ihere are some men in whom this powerful underlying 
instinct, which tends to a reversion to nature's ways, has 
been largely leached out of them, or buried deep be- 
neath the cares and demands or allurements of civilized 
life. Such men care nothing for field sports. But with 
the majority of us this feeling is easily awakened, and 
instinct resumes her sway. 
The proposition was laid down above that the pleasures 
of the chase are more in the anticipation and retro- 
spection than in the actual events as they occur. Let us 
examine this a little further. 
Let us suppose that a day is appointed for a hunt of 
some kind. The preparations have been made and 
the day arrives. We get out of bed at an unwonted 
hour, eat hastily an unrelished breakfast, subject our- 
selves to much discomfort from cold in winter or heat 
in .summer, suffer from hunger and thirst, undergo great 
bodily fatigue, suffer much worry and perturbation of 
mind from various causes, sometimes are exposed to 
serious dangers. Can any sportsman put his finger on 
any moment of such a day and say to himself, "I am 
now experiencing a sense of positive enjoyment — I now 
realize in this moment all that constitutes the great 
charm that lies in the chase"? 
There are moments, to be sure, of triumph and satis- 
faction at success, but so intermingled with other and 
diverse feelings that it is impossible to block out any 
brief period of time in which we realize all that goes 
to constitute the pleasures and attractions of field sports. 
Perhaps the most unalloyed and positive pleasure 
that we feel, especially when in the forest or on the 
stream, is in the sense of being "next to nature," with 
the exultation in freedom which accompanies that sense. 
Another proposition was that the game or fish pursued 
must have value. No sportsman nor fisherman would 
feel much interest in pursuinig game or fish that was 
useless when secured, leaving an entire lacking of that 
sense of satisfaction in contemplating the results of a 
successful day. which constitutes so large a part of 
the pleasure that is in "sport." 
To sum up the matter categorically, in conclusion, 
and define the elements of pleasure in field sports, to 
"resolve it into its principle and state that principle," 
the following array of elements is given: 
I. Pleasure in anticipation. 
12,. Pleasure in retrospection. 
3. Pleasure in the possession of suitable appliances and 
agencies, involving the exercise of skill in handling same, 
as well as emulation of, and friendly competition with, 
other sportsmen who have similar possessions. 
4. Matching artificial weapons and human skill against 
natural instinct and cunning in a contest where pastime 
is the incentive on one side and survival of life on the 
other side. 
5. The acquisition of trophies of value to be admired 
and shared by relatives and friends, involving a sense 
of manly effort made and skill successfully employed 
in such acquisition. 
6. Satisfying a primitive in.stinct by an intimate as- 
sociation with nature, involving a consciousness of free- 
dom from the artificial and conventional restraints of 
civilization, with healthful exercise, abundance of fresh 
air, and a happy condition attained wherein we realize 
the wish expressed by the great bard of Avon, "may good 
digestion wait on appetite," which is after all so large a 
factor in human happiness. Coahoma. 
Charlie Shivel's Dream. 
"I don't know that I could tell you if I tried just why 
fine old Sauterne, mellow and golden, always recalls 
Charlie Shivel to my mind, but it does and— well, Charlie, 
wherever you happen to be (and I suppose it's fishmg, if 
you've half a chance), here's looking at you. We both 
have acquired, with some things that are worse, barren 
spots and fringes of gray on the crest of our intellecta- 
alites. The good things we like have most all gone back 
on us; our long tried livers rebelled seasons past — our 
doctors said gout, and we took to springs and what not, 
it's hard to say; but the truth is we are growing a little 
old, and we began doing it some time ago^ — only we 
weren't jus\ certain of the fact — so few are, you know. 
Charlie Shivel? Why, of course you know him. I don't 
suppose there is a head of any big firm between Cincinnati 
and St. Louis, and from St. Louis to the Great Lakes, but 
does. One of the best generally informed men 1 ever 
met — a brilliant conversationalist, talks like a book upon 
every topic. But fishing is his hobby, and to hear hiof 
talk for an evening on that subject is almost as good ai 
taking a vacation. A ge'nuine lover of nature, an en- 
thusiast. Why. his word pictures arc greater in a minute 
than any artist's brush ever wrought. There is music in 
them too. You can hear the singing of the wild birdj 
and the soughing of the wind among the trees, and the 
ripple, swish, ripple, swish, of the water as plainly as yoa 
can see the cloud shadows passing over it,, and all the tints 
of tender springtime green, the warm flush of midsummer 
and the golden tones, with crimson blending, when the 
blue haze of autumn creeps over the hills — but you'd have 
to hear him tell it. Well, here's to Charlie again— and I 
am good for the next— if for twenty-eight years ever a 
better fisherman cast a fly in the park regions of Minne- 
sota, or in any of the waters in that iand o' lakes' up 
there. Yes, he's a born sportsman, I tell you— none of 
your three-pronged fishhooks for him; he is a gentleman 
every inch of him, even to fish. We have drifted apart, 
he and I; but there are times when I sit smoking here 
and you fellows are full of topics and interests that have 
gone ahead of me, when I think I'd give a fortune just 
to hear him tell of Bartlett's and 'the day's catch right of? 
the point' ; and what tliey had for dinner over on Spirit 
Island.. But that always reminds me of something else, 
and then I begin to miss my slippers, forgetting the years 
it is since some one placed them by my chair. I begin to 
miss, God help me, most things — the little home of long 
aeo and the Httle girl who, at my side, used to welcome 
Charlie to our fireside — that's what keeps us apart, makes 
us a bit cowardly — it's because we know we couldn't re- 
member other things and forget the little grave where the 
water moans," _ : -^nrm'-ditiiii 
