16S 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
(March 2, 1901. 
—-^ — 
Through the Parsonage Window* 
X, 
A SNOW STORM is on, and as I look out through the 
protecting screen of glass my vision falls on a bewilder- 
ing swirl of falling fiakes. As fancy wings its way out 
through the twisting, falling mass of ghostly white it 
seems in danger of losing its way and becoming lost 
entirely. Yet away it whirls on fearless wing, far, far 
over hill and level, mountain and plain; over the green 
woods and purling brooks of summer, and over bleak 
plains and ice-bound streams of winter. This way and 
that, circling hither and yon, now hovering over some 
inviting scene as if about to alight, then towering away 
again like some Avary old mallard, it finally settles 
among the reeds of St. Peter's marsh of twenty years 
ago. 
We had been corresponding nearly all winter con- 
cerning this trip — Lewis and I — and Jim having been my 
companion on several previous trips was of course .in- 
cluded. 
Early in March, when the ice first began to break, 
Lewis had come from his home several hundred miles 
away to be ready for the start; but spring had suffered 
a relapse which caused a delay of a couple of weeks, and 
when the ice finally did give way we were quite im- 
patient for the start. 
Loading our effects in two boats, and with Jim in one 
and Lewis and myself in the other, we had started for 
a twenty-five mile paddle against the current, to storied 
St. Peter's. The evening of the first day found us with 
about two-thirds of the distance behind us, and early 
in the afternoon we went into camp on the only bit 
of ground that rose above the iiood for many miles 
along the river. From bluff to bluff the bottom lands 
were Under water all the way from two inches to four 
feet. 
Already enough birds had arrived from the South to 
fleck the horizon in all directions with their varying 
flight. So far a solitary sawbill, brought down by Lewis, 
was our only trophy, and we had halted early to try 
for a few birds for immediate use. The shooting was 
difficult, the cover having all been beaten down by the 
drifting snows of winter. This forced us to lie flat on 
the bog, without so much as moving an eyelid, until 
the birds were within reach, and then spring into shoot- 
ing posture and deliver our fire before they could get 
out of range again. Yet, difficult as it was, fourteen fine, 
fellows who had weathered a four months' storm of 
lead sent after them by winter shooters along the 
Gulf coast, withered before the thunder of our lo-gauges 
before darkness closed the scene. 
Five miles further up we entered the outlet of St. 
Peter's marsh at 10 o'clock next morning, and at i went 
into camp among the scattered oaks at the foot of 
the sand bluff on the west side of the marsh, and there 
it is that a flutter of white canvas through the dead 
leaves that still clung to the live oak boughs catches 
the eye of fancy and causes it to hover and veer above 
the dead reeds of the marsh, even as the wildfowl 
hovered and veered above them in days of yore. 
We were not out to see how much hard work we 
could do, and during the afternoon only fixed ourselves 
snugly in camp and took a few shots at high flyers from 
the top of the sandhill. 
Under the prevailing conditions it required a breeze to 
make the shooting good, a breeze to start a more gen- 
eral flight among the ducks, and to bring such as were 
flying closer to the ground, a breeze to set the tall canes 
and reeds to nodding, that their movements might in 
turn conceal the movements of the shooters crouching 
among them, and to set them rustling, that it might in 
turn drown the noise made by forcing a canoe through 
them. The first day it was calm, and we skirmished in 
whatever way suggested itself to us, with indifferent 
success, but by the afternoon of the second day a grand 
gale was coming from the south. 
Lewis and I took our stand at the lower end of the 
marsh, where the flight from the down river country 
was crossing. Forcing our boat into the tallest of the 
reeds, where we had perfect cover, and standing in 
either end of the boat, we took our chances with the 
flight, without call or decoys. The force of the wind 
brought the ducks in veering, erratic course, low over 
the tall tules as they worked their way against it. 
We would see a flock coming low and straight at us, 
and feel sure of a shot, when a stronger gust would send 
them a hundred yards to right or left, and they would 
pass out of range. But this operated more often in 
our favor than against us, as their veering flight caused 
them to cover much more ground, and few flocks got 
by without getting touched up at some point. 
At one time a peculiarly tempting offer caused us 
both to fire at the same instant. The two recoils, com- 
ing at the same time and from the same direction, broke 
our anchorage and threw us both out of balance. As 
1 fell a towering mallard came temptingly in the line of my 
vision, and I threw up my gun and fired the second bar- 
rel. I folded that mallard as neatly as a lady clerk folds 
a package of dry goods, but the second recoil sent me 
completely down and out, to the extent of thrusting 
one arm into the water up to my shoulder at least. 
Had not the boat been strongly supported by the stiff 
reeds a complete upset would have resulted. 
During the afternoon a flock of fourteen white swans 
crossed the marsh and kept us in a fever of excitement 
for about five minutes, as they came straight at us, just 
topping the canes, but at the critical moment a stronger 
gust of wind swept them aside and they passed a hundred 
to the left, and dropped into the water just out of 
reach. It was a disappointing experience, yet all in all 
the afternoon was a glorious one, and still throws a 
gilded line on memory's spectroscope through all the 
intervening years. 
One feature of our hunt, which it was proposed to ex- 
tend into the jacksnipe season, was a periodical trip 
down river for mail, supplies and so forth. Jim and I 
were the first to go on one of these trips, leaving Lewis 
%Q FStdl ^?foys. yf\\V?\i- w^fP Wff^Viiz in an pp^ii 
reach of marsh. The run down stream was expected to 
and did yield the best of the shooting, but coming up it 
was a long, hard and profitless day of steady paddling. 
The population of the overflowed meadows and 
marshes had greatly increased since our upstream pull. 
Great swarms of sprigtails, widgeon and mallard sat in 
the shallow water back from the ,river, but as the cover* 
was all beaten down and the river up level with and 
overflowing the meadows, we seldom got a shot at these. 
One pair of sprigs did sit on a tuft of meadow that rose 
above the flood until we drifted within 60 yards of them 
on the swift current, and then, as they sprang into the 
air, a single shot tumbled both back into the water. 
Five miles below St. Peter's, Coal Creek Flats open 
out on the left, where a thousand acres of ducks, geese, 
brant and swan was no uncommon sight at almost any 
time during the spring freshets. Just opposite and a lit- 
tle below is an infinitely larger marsh, where the Win- 
nebago swamps open out on Green River bottom. There 
were thousands of wildfowl in St. Peter's and Mineral 
marshes, another thousand on Coal Creek Flats, yet 
these were only small fragments of swarms that hov- 
ered over the far-reaching Winnebago swamps. I have 
seen a solid mass of white-fronted geese, extending as 
far as the eye could make them out, over the meadows 
that reached a trifle above, or were covered by only a 
few inches of water, and I have known hunters, too, 
who chased them round two or three weeks at a time and 
never gather a single specimen. It was a maximum of 
sport with a minimum of slaughter, and were it not for 
the immense amount of scratch shooting it induces 
nothing could be urged against it. 
At that time I think there had been at least a ton of 
shot sown on every acre of the main marshes. It was 
literally casting their lead upon the waters to be returned 
after many days in the shape of gilded reminiscences. 
With ducks swarming all about us, we got very few 
offers, and those few were mostly from the isolated willow 
groves along the upper stream, but after we got below the 
main marshes to where the valley narrows and tall 
fringes of willow lines the stream most of the wajs then 
our sport began in earnest, as out from the thickets 
fluttered bluebills, redheads, greenwing and mallard. 
Sprigs, like the wild goose, is an open country bird, and 
rarely enters timber. 
When we started on the upstream pull next morning 
the sky in the northwest had a peculiar look, which be- 
tokened wind, and soon after we started it commenced 
to blow and rapidly rose to a gale, With the wind at our 
backs and two paddles rapidly plying we made good 
speed against the current, and were soon at the head of 
timber. Here all shelter from the gale was removed, 
and we had five miles of open, tossing sea to cross. It 
had grown . cold very fast, too, and the spray was be- 
ginning to freeze wherever it touched. As we looked out 
over the wind-tossed waste of whitecaps we were in 
some doubt, but the wind was in our favor, and we soon 
pushed off. 
We went much faster now, as we had the full sweep 
of the wind, while the current was much lessened by the 
broadening of the waters. We found that by regulating 
our speed by the speed of the waves there was no danger 
of the spray flying over us. Sometimes we would bury 
the bow of ottr canoe in a great wave and keep it there 
for half a mile. While running thus our bark ran as 
smoothly as though no winds had vexed the face of the 
flood. We made three miles quicker than we had ever 
made it before, and then disaster came. In attempting 
to keep a straight course we ran into shallow water and 
grounded. The instant the boat struck, the spray began 
to sweep over us, and we were obliged to get out and 
wade, leading the boat behind for some distance. In a 
short time we were walking icicles, and there was no 
more comfort for us, for with everything sheeted with 
ice there was no pleasure in sitting down, and great 
danger in standing tip. When still a mile below the 
r arrows, jusf above Coal Creek Flats, we sighted a lone 
tent in a thick clump of willows in the bend of the river. 
At sight of it Jim said, "If it was only ours." We had 
both been thinking of the same thing. Our minds had 
been working in unison on the more desperate struggle 
tc come, when we rounded the bend of the river and 
met the stronger current of the narrows, with the wind 
quartering against us, though nothing had been said. ' 
The grove which sheltered the tent was on a slight eleva- 
tion, which still had six inches of dry land to spare above 
the flood. We thought it courtesy to call on the lone 
camper, and landing, walked up to the tent and found it 
ours. 
Lewis had thought the upstream pull would be too 
much for us to make in one day, and had shortened it 
by moving down four miles to meet us. He had every- 
thing snug and tight, and a good fire going, and our re- 
lief from further hardships fully paid for what we had 
endured. 
The wind increased in strength until night, and its 
roar through the leafless trees became majestic in its 
fury. The tent was completely sheltered by a low, dense 
thicket of young willows, and the turmoil only added to 
our comfort as we sat beside the fire and thawed the ice 
from our canvas clothes and hip boots. 
When thoroughly dried and warmed, I proposed we 
go out and see what the ducks were doing, but Lewis and 
Jim both demurred, and I sallied out alone. Out near 
the river side the grove was more open, and the wind 
nearly swept me off my feet as I stepped out of the denser 
shelter. "The thin disguise of roses" which had prom- 
ised spring had indeed fallen off, and had left only the 
naked blades of the hosts of Boreas. 
The clash of bending branches was as the clash of the 
steel of battling armies. The writhing and hissing of the 
tortured flood added a charm. It was wild, majestic and 
inspiring. Every wildfowl was awing and being tossed 
about like dead leaves in the grasp of a whirlwind, but 
the shooting was most erratic. A miss by 10 feet would 
be followed by a clean kill, but it was impossible to 
gather any birds. I stayed out until dark, trying to drop 
a bird on the island, but the wind invariably caught and 
huirled them far out of reach, though they were sure to 
driXt into a piece of tall sedge across the river, where I 
con Id easily get them after the storm. When darkness 
dronye me in I was loth to leave the scene, for I knew it 
ha4 been one of those great days that are landmarks of 
the past, - - . . 
In the morning river and marshes were one vast field 
of ice. I walked across the river on it and chopped my 
ducks out with the camp axe. There was a railroad 
station seven miles a/way. Lewis and Jim sledding a. boat 
to the main land that they might have it on their rdturn, 
v/alked over and took the train for home. I determined 
to stay a while and enjoy the novelty of living along on 
an island. 
There were some few ducks still lingering about, and 
a short distance from camp there was a small airhole. 
Setting some decoys near it, I spent quite an enjoyable 
afternoon. 
During the afternoon I noticed the water rising 
rapidly. The ice retarded its flow, and it was threatening 
my island. At night it was within a few feet of the tent. 
Drawing one end of my boat inside the tent I slept in 
that. 
Next morning I had to raise the camp stove out of the 
water before I could build a fire. Outside, it was snow- 
ing. That settled it, and making everything secure as 
possible, I too started across the field of ice for home. 
The Parson. 
In the Faroe Islands. — L 
,"Some high rocks arising out of the Wild Sea; high Hills or 
hard Stone, strangely divided from each other by deep and rapid 
.Streams of Water. ♦ * * It cannot well be expressed with a 
Pen how fierce the Sea is, nor to what a height it raiseth itself." 
(Lucas Debes, 1670.) 
When we left Scotland for the Faroe Islands we sailed 
into a nor'easter, a three days' storm, which was still 
blowing in fitful gusts when the islands came in sight. 
On the left we could see dimly through the driving mists 
black crags with surf dasliing high, long sweeps of bar- 
ren fjelds, the bold promontories of Suderoe, Sandoe, 
Skuo, Vaagoe. the two Dimuns and Stromoe — seven out 
of the twenty-two islands which form the Faroe group. 
Then came Naalsae on the right, giving shelter from the 
northeast winds, and we ca.st anchor in the open fjord (it 
could hardly be called a harbor) before Thorshaon.. 
I knew and loved of old this little capital of 1,200 souls, 
but it was looking its worst that morning, and I felt sorry 
for a bran new English aonsul and his family as they 
saw for the first time their future home. Snow and sleet 
were whirling down from the fjelds, and the only really 
green places were the sodded house roofs where the grass 
turns first in the spring, owing to the warmth below. 
Then came the pale green of the home patches or "in- 
fields" and then the wild "outfields," gray and seartd as 
in wid-winter. As I looked over the water I saw the 
head schoolmaster of all the Faroes waving his hand from 
a high-prowed Faroe boat, and shoitting, "Velkommen !" 
and soon I was with old friends in his comfortable cot- 
tage. 
One must expect changes in a metropolis after almost 
five years' time, and I notice with regret that the city 
fathers have blasted some reefs and boidders out of the 
principal lane, have trimmed the grass, and a few cot- 
tages and fish houses have been erected. But the ducks 
still sleep peacefully in the middle of the lanes (there are 
no horses in Thorshaon) and the hens hop from roof to 
roof, scratching among the long grasses. The city lamps 
have all been unhooked and sent to the "blikkenslagers" 
for repairs, there to remain until darkness returns with 
autumn nights. We are in latitude 62 degrees 40 minutes, 
and all night long I can hear the titlarks trilling and the 
curlews skirling in the outfields. 
Small as it is, Thorshaon is by far the largest settle- 
ment in the Faroes. Here live governor, judge, sheriff, 
head schoolmaster and head doctor. Here in the summer 
is the local parliainent ; British and Danish gunboats visit 
these waters to look after troublesome trawlers, and many 
tourists come on shore when the Iceland-bound steamers 
pause here for a few hours. Iceland is fast becoming 
popular for summer outings, but the Faroes, fortunately, 
are not yet considered "worth while," the tourists judg- 
ing of their attractions by the surroundings of Thorshaon, 
which are comparatively monotonous. 
Since my last visit a tiny steamer, the Smyril, has begun 
to ply among the islands. Its goings and comings are 
most erratic; its time tables more distracting than a Brit- 
ish A. B. C. railway guide, but for many excursions it is 
safer and cheaper than the usual mode of Faroe traveling 
— eight men and a boat. After three weeks in Thorshaon 
I left one stormy morning for Midoag, on Vaagoe, one of 
the western islands. The schoolmaster borrowed two 
large Normal school pupils and a codfish boat; the cod- 
fish were taken out and I was put in, and we started for 
the little Smyril, which was plunging out in the fjord. 
Only desperation made it possible for rae to swing my- 
self out of our tossing boat and up the loosely swinging 
ladder. There is not a wharf or quay in all the islands. I 
reflected that they were twenty-two in number — eighteen 
inhabited — and my ambition to see them all oozed rapidly 
away. 
It was too stormy to remain on deck, but from time 
to time I put my head above the stairs. There was little 
to be seen; only flying scud, vague giant shapes looming 
up in the mist with cloud wreaths streaming from their 
rocky summits, all bleak and desolate, no sign of human 
life but at one place, where a long strip of green hillside 
and a tiny stone church marked the site of Kirkuboe. So 
we went on for three hours; then suddenly we felt hap- 
pier down below, and found we had turned into Mid^'ag 
harbor, and already boats were putting out from shore for 
passengers and freight. 
The head schoolmaster had previously sent a letter of 
introduction to a certain "Konge-Bonder," or king's 
peasant, known among his friends as Hans Kristoffer. 
But no one came forward when I landed to greet me, 
though one-half the population surveyed me from door- 
ways and behind stone walls and around corners. So 
I asked to see a shop keeper who I knew spoke excellent 
English, and he arriving, promptly dragged forth Hans 
Kristoffer from a group of men near by. He had been 
watching me all the time, knew who it was and had been 
expecting me for a week. These are Faroe manners, and 
do not denote unfriendliness. The stranger is expected 
to make all advances. Herr Hans Kristoffer now inti- 
mated that I was welcome to his house, and we started 
off at once, he paddling along lightly and silently in his 
Faroe moccasins. 
My host is a type of the best class of Faroe peasant. 
His family hav§ beI4 crown Jawds (paying a sinall ap-. 
