282 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
tAFRn. 13, 1901. 
Lost. 
Were you ever lost in the woods? 
By this question I do not mean were you ever lost in 
some ten-acre woods lot back of a village farm. 
What I do mean is this: Let us suppose that on some 
beautiful morning you set out from camp or settlement 
into the vast forest, in which you could roam for days 
and days without coming in contact with any civilization, 
when suddenly the sun becomes obscured, or in the ex- 
citement of the hunt you lose your reckoning and simply 
will not believe your compass. Then to my mind unless 
you have the homing instinct of the pigeon you are in- 
deed lost. 
As a hunter and scaler in the Maine woods for twenty- 
five years, I have been asked the question many, many 
times, "Were you ever lost?" But on account of never 
having been bewildered to this extent I have not been 
able to give a very satisfactory answer to those seeking 
a story. But my ability to reach camp at night, be the 
day rainy or cloudy, has always been perfectly satis- 
factory to myself. 
When I was a young boy, however, there was one ex- 
ception which is the excuse for the story; but to this day 
I have never conclusively made up my mind whether it 
was my companion or myself who was the lost one. 
The wild lands of the State of Maine are laid out into 
townships. All these townships originally were six miles 
square, and the greater part of them remain to this day 
as they were originally located. The limits of these town- 
ships are defined by spots or blazes on the trees from 
5 to 6 feet from the ground. A succession of spots 
constitutes a line, and is called either the north, east, 
south or west line of the town as the case may be. 
Beginning at the eastern limit of the State between 
Maine and New Brunswick, and running north and 
south, is a series of lines or spotted trees just six miles 
apart and running parallel with each other. These lines 
of spotted trees define what are known as ranges. 
Intersecting these lines at right angles, and also just six 
"miles apart, is another series of parallel lines; thus by 
the intersection of these parallel lines or spotted trees we 
have townships laid out just six miles square and con- 
taining each thirty-six square miles. 
The corners of each town are plainly marked by a cedar 
post about 6 feet long, hewed square like an ordinary 
piece of timber, marked with a gouge or marking chisel, 
indicating the number of the township, as well as the 
range in which it is, and driven well into the ground; 
so that instead of a name for every six miles of space in 
our wild lands we have Township 7, Range 9; or Town- 
ship 3, Range 4, according to location. 
It often happens that these range lines become very 
obscure, owing to age and the bark of the tree lipping 
or growing over the spots. This condition sometimes 
makes respotting necessary, and worldly wise is the 
timberland owner who not only keeps his lines plain 
and well defined but also has a trusty man go over the 
lines once or twice ever year to see that no one has 
trespassed. 
The lumberman or operator who takes out a permit 
on one town often gets across the line on an adjoining 
town. This is called a trespass, and is either willful 
owing to a superior chance for getting fine lumber and 
a plentiful supply of it or unintentional owing to ob- 
scure lines. Be the case willful or not, if discovered, 
competent men are sent in after the snow is gone, who 
count the stumps, measure the distance from the stump 
to the top of the tree which is left lying on the ground 
where it fell when the log was hauled away, take the 
diameter of the top, and the scale rule will give the 
board measure of the log which has been taken. In this 
way they ascertain the scale of the trespass. 
It was on just such an errand as this that Sylvester, 
the scaler, and I went many years ago. Poor lines and a 
willingness to take advantage of the fine timber just 
across the limit and a hope that because the region was 
so remote they would never be found out, caused the 
operators to "jump the line." 
I was a young boy then, and my woods experience 
was very limited. My companion was at that time in 
the prime of life and was considered one of the best ex- 
plorers and general all round woodsmen in the State 
of Miane. But unfortunately he was very deaf 
Driving from Bangor to the town of Carrol, we here 
left our team. In order to reach the trespass which 
had been described to us by the explorer who had found 
it we were obliged to cross a part of the town of Carrol 
and then cross the dreaded Baskahegan Bog. This 
Baskahegan Bog was almost limitless in extent and was 
very treacherous. As we walked over it the bog water 
often reached our ankles. Hackmatack trees covered the 
bog, all apparently of the same height and shape. One 
locality looked exactly like every other on that bog. As 
I was young and not particularly strong my heavy pack, 
each moment made heavier by my increasing weakness 
and the fast-falling rain, caused me often to stop for rest, 
but I had succeeded so far in keeping my companion in 
sight, although his strong, vigorous strides set me a 
pace that was fast telling on me; but not a complaint did 
I make. 
At last, thoroughly tired out, I lay down to get a 
drink at a little bog brook. I must have stayed there 
longer than I realized, for on getting up I could see 
nothing of Sylvester. I immediately began to halloa, 
but remembering that Sylvester was as deaf as a post I 
decided not to waste my. breath in that manner. "I can't 
follow him on this trackless bog in the fog and rain. 
He is much more capable of finding me," I said to 
myself, and seating myself by the brook I patiently 
awaited results. 
■ Now I had in my pack, besides the greater part of the 
food, .Sylvester's tobacco — and what a luxury this was to 
him 'no one knew better than I; so I made up my mind 
' that, taking everything into consideration, my best place 
to put in the night was right there by that little brook, 
and trust to luck that he would look me up the next day. 
In tiie dmiUng rain I took my supper of hardtack, 
a slice of raw pork and bog water — a fire was out of the 
question. 
To say that that night, alone, in the rain, on that 
dreary bog, without a shelter of any kind, without com- 
panionship of even a dog or a star, was pleasant would 
hardly be correct; but ray condition was infinitely bet- 
ter than that of Sylvester, for he had no food. To try 
and describe the long sleepless night would be im- 
possible. During the seemingly endless hours I tramped 
back and forth in the darkness by the side of the brook 
in order to keep my blood circulating, and when at last 
daylight appeared I eagerly watched and listened for 
the approach of my companion. 
Starting at break of day, Sylvester had retraced his 
route step by step hallooing as he came, and when at 
last we caught sight of each other great was the re- 
joicing. 
"Had you attempted to follow me," said he, "I doubt" 
if I ever could have found you. It was almost dark be- 
fore I discovered that you were not following me. 
Something caused me to glance behind, when to my 
"surprise you were nowhere in sight. No use for me to 
do anything till daylight. Then I remembered that the 
last time I saw you was at this little brook, and my only 
hope was that you would be woodsman enough to stay 
there and not attempt to follow me. Please can I have 
something to eat? Is my tobacco dry? But it's all 
right, son; I have put in a worse night than you." 
Resuming our journey we crossed the bog without fur- 
ther adventure, and located the trespass. 
Was I really lost? 
I certainly have never been able to answer the question 
to my own satisfaction. Had Sylvester not returned 
I should have followed the brook down to Baskahegan 
Lake, followed the outlet of the lake to the river, and so 
have reached civilization. I planned this all out during 
the lonely hours of the night. I can truthfully say that I 
was neither excited, turned about nor hungry, and as 
long as my food lasted I was all right; but to stand 
alone on that bog in the rain, without fire or shelter, 
another night — never! 
A few years later I was destined to meet a man in a 
very wild and remote part of the State who neither then 
nor since has ever had a shadow of doubt as to whether 
he was lost or not. 
My Story. 
It was late in the summer of '79 that I was at my camp 
on the beautiful Ebeeme Lake, entirely alone, making 
preparations for my fall hunting and trapping, mean- 
while awaiting the arrival of my hunting companion, 
Joseph Rollins. I spent the great part of my time in 
filing the teeth of the massive bear traps, looking for 
signs of bear and occasionally catching a string of brook 
trout. 
On the last day of August I decided to follow Babel 
Brook away upon old Ebeeme Mountain, and besides 
catching some brook trout, look for sign of bear. Put- 
ting a luncheon in my pocket and a notice on the door 
of the camp, written on birch bark with a small piece of 
charred wood from the fireplace, notifying any hunter 
or woodsman who happened that way that I would be 
back at night, and launching my canoe, I paddled up 
the lake, singing as I went. 
How little did I realize what an experience was to 
come to me that day, and how different would be the 
conditions of my return! 
Arriving at the outlet of the brook, and drawing the 
canoe out of the water, I slung my. carbine on my 
shoulder and cut a small alder pole for fishing. I re- 
member distinctly looking back over the pond as I ad- 
justed my fishing line, and thought what a glorious day 
it was, and how beautiful to be alone with nature. There 
was a man within five miles of me who did not think as 
I did that day. Fishing the brook, pool after pool, I 
soon caught my string of fish. 
Hanging them to a low bow of a tree, as I expected 
to return that way, I struck off up the mountain, looking 
about for a chance to set a bear trap later. 
About four miles from the canoe, and in one of the most 
inaccessible parts of the mountain, I heard a faint halloo. 
As the halloo of the bear is almost identical with the 
halloo of man my only thought was, "Perhaps, old fellow, 
later on I'll have your pelt." 
"Hall-o-a!" 
"Holler away, old fellow." 
"Hall-o-a!" again comes floating to me through the 
clear air. 
"Can that call be that of a bear, so very human m 
its sound? I almost fear not; and if by chance any one 
should be lost in this wild place I pity him!" 
Unslinging my carbine, I shoot. 
"Halloa !— Halloa !— Halloa !" 
No bear would call after hearing a rifle; so advancing 
and shooting occasionally after traveling a long distance 
I catch sight of a white object away up on the moun- 
tain. Behind a tree I remain perfectly silent and watch. 
Can that man possibly be sane? Coatless, hatless, vest- 
less, he looked, as his eye-f bulged out of his head, like a 
raving maniac, and so weak that he could walk with 
difficulty. On my approaching him he broke down com- 
pletely and cried like a child. 
His Story. 
"Stopping at the Katahdin' Iron Works for a few days 
to recuperate my tired body and mind, and hearing that 
you were in this locality, I engaged a man and team to 
take me to the Prairie, a settlement seven miles this side 
of the iron works. Here my man and team left me and 
I started to try to find your camp, much to the regret 
and notwithstanding the remonstrance of the two men 
who lived near by. 
"'You will never ih this, world find that camp — 
never! There is no road leading to it — no trail. -He gets 
there by canoe as well as by land. It is a blind trip for 
a stranger, and you better let one of us guide you.' 
"Thinking they were after the money more than any- 
thing else, and in order to obtain the job were perhaps 
trying to scare me a bit, I decided that I was com- 
petent to find you myself. So bidding the men good-by 
and getting the general course to your camp, I started. 
Traveling for a while on an open ridge on horseback, as 
they had directed. I looked off to the left and saw a 
f)ody of water, which I took to be Ebeeme thoroughfare, 
so leaving the ridge I struck out for it. No sooner had 
I got down into this low, boggy land than I was com- 
pletely turned around. My reasoning faculties left me. 
I shouted. I hallooed. All to no purpose. I was terri- 
fied. Starting on with no fixed point in view I would 
travel on a while and then stop and halloo. To add to 
the horror of the situation I had only a small luncheon; 
no gun, no axe. 
"I traveled on in this manner till dark. The night was 
not very cold, but oh! the lonesomeness of it! Alone, 
and with the fear of so remaining as long as my strength 
might hold out, and then starving to death. The morn- 
ing found me weaker from exposure, loss of sleep and 
lack of nourishing food, but I felt as though I must 
keep on. About an hour ago I reached the climax, and 
in sheer desperation I threw away my coat, my vest, my 
hat and ran I knew not whither, hallooing as I ran," 
For a long time I cauld not convince him that I 
knew the way out myself. Traveling short distances at 
a time and resting often we finally reached the canoe. 
Placing him carefully in the bottom of the canoe, I 
paddled out into the lake, well pleased with my day's 
work, if my string of fish was left hanging on the tree. 
Before I got to camp my man was sound asleep — 
completely worn out. For two days he did not leave his 
bunk, and in two weeks he had hardly regained his 
equilibrium. Night after night he would moan and 
halloo in his dreams. During the day he was my 
shadow, and when at last he was well enough to return 
home he begged me to come out of the woods, for fear 
that some time I might meet with an experience similar 
to his own. 
He has never been in the woods since then. 
Joseph A. Thompson, 
Bangor, Me. 
A Good Friday. 
Who does not like occasionally to leave the turmoU 
of the town, go to the woods and there lean up against 
a great tree and listen? 
Shuddering drums, trumpets hailing. 
Woodwinds moaning, strings weird wailing. 
Harps and viols rising, failing — 
All these are heard and more than these 
When wild winds wake with blast and breeze 
The music of the forest trees. 
Gone were the merrymakers; hushed the music. Under 
the spreading elms the wide verandas of the great hotels 
echoed no longer to the tread of throngs on pleasure 
bent. The rustle and color which made gay the pave- 
ments during the floral fete had flitted to the treetops 
where the autumn cradle song was making drowsy the 
"Queen of the Spas." 
The Colonel, sated with the social whirl, glanced from 
his paper to his wife sipping her coffee and remarked, 
"What's this dull town to me? Quail are ripe in Michi- 
gan; we better be moving." 
And so it came about that one day when Jack and the 
Doctor had gone after a setter, the like of which never 
was on land or sea, the ladies declared their intention 
to drive out with us and witness the antics of men and 
dogs hunting quail. With guns and a brace of setters 
under the seats we were soon speeding northward, the 
crisp air and bright sunshine being pleasantly exhil- 
arating. What is there in the ride to the shooting 
grounds which makes it an unmixed pleasure to sports- 
men? Probably chief among conspiring elements may be 
mentioned good-fellowship, then pleasant anticipations 
and the imagination which endows every bushy pasture 
and wide stubble with a wealth of feathered possibilities. 
Looking across an old meadow with here and there a 
clump of bushes. Lady J. remarked, "That looks like a 
good place," and in less time than it takes to tell it. Cap 
and Boy were beating up wind, the guns following leis- 
urely, and the ladies keeping an eye on us from the car- 
riage. Cap soon winded a bevy and roaded to a point. 
A glimpse of rushing wings and two sharp reports were 
productive of noise, nothing more. Fortunately we were 
not visible from the carriage; they did not come to see 
how not to do it. Fortunately, also, one or two of the 
bevy dropped in a brush pile, in full view of the ladies, and 
they so advised us. The dogs were worked up to the 
place, and did their part handsomely, amid many ex- 
clamations of appreciation. At the flush the Colonel with 
deliberate promptness pressed the trigger and the quail 
pitched upward and then onward and downward to the 
tall grass, whence Boy retrieved and delivered him to his 
master's hand. Quoth Lady B: "That was worth com- 
ing out to see; now I know how it is done." 
About five miles from Alma is a place pleasant to the 
eye of a sportsman, about a hundred acres of lowland 
through which a little stream winds its sluggish way. 
Stretching back from its western bank, majestic swamp 
elms rise with occasional patches of willow between. Its 
east side is deeply fringed with alders having a deeper 
backing of deciduous trees merging into the cool, green 
gloom of hemlock and tamarack. 
If such you find, go, mark it well. 
For there ruffed grouse and woodcock dwell; 
There may be heard the plaintive pipe 
Of quail, and scaipe of Wilson's snipe. 
Just as we emerged from the woods into the alders 
a grouse flushed unexpectedly, and at the crack of the 
gun another went away, only to be cut down instanter. 
Was the first one hit? After picking up the second, 
shaking out the loose feathers and admiring that blend-* 
ing of gray and brown which is the despair of artists — 
there was Cap staunchly standing, and before him slowly 
crossing an opening in the bushes was a wing-tipped 
grouse, head erect and tail spread, as proud as a pea- 
cock. O for a Wizard! There are times when "the lens 
is better than the gun." 
Dropping the bird in the hand I rushed for the bird 
in the bush, and the next instant stretched my length 
over a trailing vine. Truly, "Evil communications cor- 
rupt good manners," for Cap went by my prostrate form 
lik« a flash, and caught what I could not. The value 
of a dog depends upon his master, and severe correctioj^ 
