424 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
IJUNE, I, 1901. 
"You don't happen to have a derrick about you, 
Ivitchener, do you?" 
"Nonsense ! Just lay your foot fairly in the middle of 
the floor and step in. She's as steady as the Bank of 
England. There yon are! That was splendidly done — 
for an elephant." 
"If the Bank of England isn't any steadier than that," 
the Sick Thing remarks, clutching the sides of the canoe 
as Kitchener steps in, "then the Lord have mercy on the 
nation's finances." 
"Come along, you fellows,'- Kitchener shouts to the 
others. "We've got to make camp somewhere before sun 
down. You don't mind the sea, Sick Thing, do you ? 
It's running a bit high for the amount of freeboard we've 
got. Are you pretty comfy?" 
"Lord, yes ! This is simply luxurious. Vestibuled 
limiteds are not in it for a moment with this. I'm wet to 
the waist already." 
"Hark!" says Kitchener, pausing in his paddling. "See 
if you can make out what Cyclops is shouting back there 
on the wharf. Confound this wind, even a fog horn like 
that can't carry against it! Something's wrong. I sup- 
pose, and we'll have to go back. We can't put about in _ 
this sea. Just back water, will you? We've only got 
twenty or thirty yards to go." 
They backed up to the wharf, keeping the nose of the 
canoe to the wind, Cyclops in the meantime shouting 
prodigiously. 
"Shut up, you infernal calliope," Kitchener growls. 
"Now then, what is the matter?" 
"Have you got any tobacco?" Cyclops says, mildly. 
"Chuck him your pouch, Sick Thing," Kitchener says 
with feeling. 'Then as the Sick Thing bows his head over 
his paddle in an anguish of laugher. Kitchener gives him- 
self over without let or hindrance to a glittering flow of 
profanity. 
"I wish I could swfar like you. Kitchener," the Sick 
Thing says, Aviping his eyes on his shirt sleeve. "It's 
beautiful." 
When they are once more well away from the wharf 
they are brought to a halt by another voice. 
"It's the Little Officer Boy this time," Kitchener says, 
gloomily. "He seems to be dancing and waving his 
hands. Now I wonder what in the name of Job he 
wants. Well, back her up again. If this goes on, we'll 
have to sleep at the hotel to-night." 
When they are alongside once mpre, the Little Officer 
Boy makes himself understood: 
"Why the deuce didn't you fellows stay where you 
were?" he cries, indignantly. "That's what I was telling 
you. You looked fine out there with the sea coming over 
you and the light was just right. I should have had a 
bully picture in a minute if you'd only kept still.. Go 
out again, will you? — and come round into the trough of 
the sea, so as to get it good. I'll have my camera out in 
a jifJy." 
"Step out. Sick Thing, and land the bags," Kitchener 
says, in the tone of a man who sees the sheriff coming 
with a writ. "We'll have to dump — the water's half-way 
to the thwarts already." 
While this operation is being performed. Kitchener 
turns to the others and says quietly, but in a way that 
brooks no question, "Get off, you fellows, and we'll fol- 
low." 
When the emptied canoe is again placed in the water 
and the bags are being lifted in, the other canoe is seen 
to be backing toward the wharf. 
"Well," roars Kitchener, "what is it now?" 
"■Either of you fellows got a match?" Cyclops in- 
quires, in a casual way. 
"He insisted upon coming back, you know," the Little 
Officer Boy says, in explanation. 
"Here, catch my match safe," Kitchener growls. "Now 
then, get away with you, and don't stop paddling until I 
give the signal to make camp. It's a quarter to five 
now, and the tent's got to be up by seven. Get off now, 
and don't let me hear another word out of you." 
The expedition is started upon its first stage at last 
with all Lake Couchiching ahead of it and a stiff breeze 
to work against. 
"How are you feeling, Sick Thing?" Kitchener sings 
out presently. 
"Both feet asleep," the Sick Thing responds. "Don't 
mind me. I'll be all right when it spreads. It's creeping 
up my legs now." 
"Don't bother about your feet. It always strikes a man 
like that the first day or two. Are you pretty comfy 
otherwise?" 
"Long, thin pain from the small of my back to the 
nape of my neck ; big square-built pain in my diaphragm ; 
my left ear and the right side of my nose are itchy, and 
if I stop to scratch 'em, I know I'll get a tubful of 
cold water in my stomach. Yes ; quite comfy, thank you. 
What was that poetical thing you said in your letter about 
the land where the loon laughs in. the hush of the night? 
If he has any sense of humor, he'll laugh himself sick 
when he sees this procession go by, hush or hurricane. I 
say, Kitchener, don't you imagine that I'm not enjoying 
this thing. It's splendid, of course, but I don't want to 
glut myself with it. What's the matter with making camp 
now and getting something to eat?" 
"Do you see that little island straight ahead? Well, 
we'll make for that and put up there for the night. I 
figured it out from the wharf before we started as about 
eight miles, so we'll only have about six more to go. Just 
stick to your paddle and j^ou'll be there before you 
know it, and with an appetite of heroic proportions." 
"One of my hands seems to be stuck tight to the paddle 
now, oozing blood, and with a loose bone working out 
between. Only six miles more — eh? Well, I'm going to 
give myself over to a silent enjoyment of it. Please don't 
talk to me. When you reach the island, just lift me 
out and put me to bed. I shan't want any supper." 
'The canoes reach the objective point about seven o'clock, 
the Sick Thing is helped out, and being beyond all in- 
clination for speech, is laid away in a blanket. Within 
half an hour the tent is up and the supper is cooked. 
Kitchener gently prods the Sick Thing with the toe of 
his boot, 
"Supper's ready," he announces. "I say, supper's ready. 
Do you think you could manage a mouthful? Poor old 
chap ; we've worked you too hard the first day. Do you 
want to go on sleeping, or will you join us at the festive 
board?" ^ 
"Gracious !" says the Sick Thing, rolling over and open- 
ing "his eyes, "I feel as if I'd been in a railway collision. 
Yes; I think I'd best try to swallow a little something. 
What's for supper?" 
"Fried bacon, boiled rice and raisins, hardtack and 
tea. How does that strike you?" 
"Strange to say, it strikes me as somewhat alluring," 
the Sick Thing says, getting painfully to his feet and 
beginning to limp toward the fire. 
A rubber sheet is spread upon the ground between the 
tent and the camp-fire, and on this, four tin plates, four 
tin cups and a working force of knives and forks and 
spoons are ranged, with a tin plate in the center heaped 
with hardtack. At the edge of the fire stands a big, 
blackened tin pot containing a couple of quarts of tea, and 
near it a frying pan with eight thick slices of bacon half- 
submerged in brown juice and covered,- more or less, with 
a deposit of wood ashes. Kitchener gathers the embers 
of the fire into a heap and places the frying pan on top 
for a last warming. When the brown juice is boiling he 
drops into it a handful of broken hardtack. When the 
hardtack has absorbed all of the juice, the preparations 
are complete. Each man gets two slices of bacon, a 
spoonful of fried hardtack and a big cupful of tea. 
"Not in the spirit of criticism," says the Sick Thing, 
"but merely by way of friendly comment, I note the ab- 
sence of butter." 
"You do?" says Kitchener. "And ditto the absence of 
cream. You've left the dainties behind you, and for the 
next month will have nothing but plain soldier's fare, bar 
the fish and the partridges we take — and they won't come 
our wsLj for the next day or two. I've never been over 
this route before, but as I figure it out on the Govern- 
ment maps, we'll have to have a rapids or two behind us 
before we get into the fish and partridge country." 
"Did 3'ou bring a saw with you?" the Sick Thing 
asks, turning a hardtack biscuit over and over in his 
hands and being evidently unwilling to risk his teeth on 
. it. "What do you mean about having rapids behind us?" 
"Just lay it on the ground and smash it with your 
heel. What I mean is that for the first day or two we 
shall be in the country of the summer vacationer — the 
thing that comes from the inland towns of the States and 
wears a yachting cap and fishes with a worm. That kind 
of a fellow doesn't like either rapids or portages, Con- 
sequently he stays on the sate side of them and fishes and 
shoots all day, taking all the game he can get, whether 
he caii eat it or not. He's probably been hard at work 
upon this part of the country for the last ten years, with 
the inevitable result that nothing is left but the scenery. 
How do you like the grub, now that you've got into it?" 
"It's really very good. All one needs to enjoy it 
thoroughly is teeth, confidence and hunger. I never half 
believed the starvation stories of men eating their boots 
before. There doesn't seem to be anything improbable in 
it. What's in that other pot?"' 
"That's the rice pudding, my boy. It's the coping stone 
of the feast. If you're ready for it, just wander down to 
the water and wash your plate if you're particular to have 
a clean one." 
"I think I'll have the pudding on the plate just as it is. 
thank you all the same. And give me another pint' of 
tea and" one of thost cast-iron biscuits of yours." » 
When the supper is ended and dishes, pots and frying 
pan washed and set away, the four voyageurs group them- 
selves comfortably in a convenient position for viewing 
the wonder picture of the lake. The wind has now 
gone down, and the moon throws a palpitating track of 
silver light over the expanse of black Water, making a 
central point of attraction from which the eye strays reluc- 
tantly. The black lines of the hiainland and the dim 
shapes of distant islets are merely a frame and setting 
for it. For the moment that shimmering highway of 
light, leading — who knows? — ^to the gates of paradise itself, 
is the recompense of human suffering, the reward of 
human effort, the guerdon of life. 
"Any of you fellows got any tobacco?" Cyclops in-* 
quires, casually. 
"Child," says Kitchener, "ypu would do well to thank 
God daily that j^our jaws are permanently attached, for 
A'ou have at least that part of the machinery of smoking 
always about you. Hand me over the Sick Thing's pouch 
and my match safe, which you will find in your pockets, 
together with your own pipe, which may be anywhere, and 
I will endeavor to supply the principal need of your 
existence." 
Cj'clops makes a lazy ef¥ort in the direction indicated, 
but finding the labor involved too great, presently desists. 
"Just roll over, you know," the Little Officer Boy says, 
"and I'll go through your pockets for you." 
W. E. AlTKEN. 
A Flower to Guido. 
William Arthur Wheatley, who for many years past 
has kept in touch with the sportsmen of this country by 
his many contributions 'to the sporting literature of the 
day, under the nom de plume of Guido, is dead. His life 
went out in the full vigor of his manhood in the twilight of 
May II, 1901, while he was descending the stairs of his 
own home in Memphis, Tenn., to greet an old friend and 
sportsman who had called to see him. Wearied with the 
burden of life and overcome by the fell swoop of the 
"scythe of time," he sank by the wayside to rest, and 
fell asleep in the beyond ere loved ones could arouse him 
from his slumber. And before the lengthening shadows 
of that fatal day had been chased away by the somber 
clouds of night, a legion of his friends in this city had 
dropped a tear to his memory. 
Mr. Wheatley was born in Memphis, Tenn., in the 
wi»ter of 1843. He came from a parentage highly 
honored, the record of whose lives form a bright page in 
the development of this section before the Civil War. His 
father being possessed of wealth, he had the advantages of 
the best schools in the country, and therefore received 
an education befitting a Southern gentleman, Avhich he 
used with fine effect in after years by scattering sun- 
shine with his pen through the columns of journals of 
his choice, greatly to the delight of devotee of dog and gun. 
Mr. Wheatley was far above the average man. As a 
citizen there was none better, as a friend he had few 
equals and as a sportsman no superiors, in the full accept- 
ance of the term. The place to learn the good and bad 
qualities of a sportsman's nature is on an outing around 
the camp-fire. There petty strifes and jealousies rapidly 
develop into selfishness, which are never noticed in every- 
day life. There little meannesses crop out which show 
the true inwardness of the man and make him an ob- 
jectionable companion. There, on the other hand, a true 
sportsman to the manner born, makes himself a lion among 
his companions and oc'cupies a first place in their affec- 
tions. Such a man was our dead friend. He was thor- 
oughly unselfish, big hearted and liberal to a fault. No 
sacrifice was too great for him to make to add to the 
pleasure of a friend on an occasion. The more incon- 
venience he gave himself the greater was his pleasure 
when others profited thereby. He was alwyas on the alert 
to contribute to the happiness of others without any 
regard whatever for his own comfort. His even temper, 
good nature and fund of jokes rendered him the life of 
all occasions and the "bright particular star" around 
which they all gathered, and earned for him the just 
appellation of ".the only Wheatle^'." Sad, indeed, is his 
loss to his friends, and none will feel it more keenly 
than myself. A Friend. 
Memphis, Tenn., May. 
— 9 — 
The Beaver at Home, 
Editor Fonesf and Stream: 
Your different articles on "Experience With Wild Ani- 
mals" are bringing out many interesting points concernmg 
some of our wild animals, and are also developing some 
very interesting opinions and observations on the part of 
those who come in contact with these animals. 
There have recently appeared many articles in our 
different outing papers concerning the beaver, and most 
of the writers give it as their opinion that very few op- 
portunities are presented for observing the beaver at work 
or play on his native "using ground." 
Inasmuch as most of the writers agree that the beaver 
is rarely seen in daylight, I am prompted to write you 
of an experience we had last September while on a moose 
hunting trip in New Brunswick. The region in which we 
hunted abounded in small lakes, the water of which was 
on an average of not'more than three or four feet deep, 
and almost without exception these lakes had been formed 
by beaver building dams across »the narrow portion of 
the marshes. Manj^ of these dams are not over 2 feet 
high, while others were almost 3 feet. Each lake 
would have from one to three beaver houses, and in almost 
everj' body of water we were on we found recent cuttings 
and other signs to show that the lake was inhabited by 
beaver at that time. 
One morning about 9 o'clock my guide, Mr. David 
Ogilvy, of South Tilley. Victoria county. New Bruns- 
wick, and myself were paddling on a lake about eight 
in lies south of Trousers Lake — this body of water was 
about two miles long and almost ,300 yards wide — a brisk 
breeze was blowing directly out of the north, and while 
drifting with the wind, we noticed, several hundred yards, 
ahead, a large V^in the water, as if made bj' some animal 
swimming. Ogilvy told me to be quiet, that he believed 
the same was made by a beaver, and that we would try 
and get as close up as possible. We gained on him rapidly 
at first, and the guide then allowed tlif boat to drift with 
the wind, the beaver gradually veering off to the bank 
and the boat fortunateb'' taking identically the same direc- 
tion. At the time the beaver struck the bank we were 
probably 50 yards from him, and, notwithstanding the 
fact that the wind was blowing directly from us to him. 
he had thus far paid no attention to us. As he crawled 
out upon the bank he turned round and looked at us in- 
tently, but after he saw that we remained perfectly mo- 
tionless in the boat and were, slowly drifting, he turned 
round and went about 8 or 10 feet up the steep bank into 
the bushes and commenced to work upon a black alder 
bush, the butt of which was about ij4 inches in diameter. 
It took a remarkably few incisions of his chisel-like 
teeth to cut the same through, and grabbing it by the 
butt he dragged it to the water's edge, backing into the 
water and pulling the bush after him. When he was 
about 2 feet in the water the bush became wedged be- 
tween two rocks on the bank; he crawled out again and 
attempted to dislodge the bush by pulling the same back 
up the bank. This he was unable to do, and after a few 
futile efforts he attacked the bush and severed the limbs, 
which were acting as an obstruction, then entered the 
water and made toward the butt of the bush the second 
time. 
Our canoe had now drifted down within 15 feet of the 
bank and was directly opposite the point where the beaver 
and the bush were on the shore. As he approached the 
bush the second time, he for a moment was directly 
facing us, and he seemed to catch my eye as he approached 
the boat. He stopped instantly, remaining perfectly placid 
on top of the water, and we stared at one another for 
perhaps the space of a minute and a half. At the end of 
that time he seemed to have made up his mind that things 
were not exactly right, and with an upward lunge he dove 
into the water, giving the same a resounding whack with 
the flat of his tail. The report of this blow was suffi- 
ciently loud to have been heard several hundred yards 
away. In order to get into deep water, he dove almost 
immediately beneath the boat and came to the surface on 
the far side, not over 10 feet away from the boat. Upon 
arriving at the surface he struck the water another re- 
sounding whack and immediately went under again. This 
was repeated five or six times as he made off out into the 
middle of the lake, coming to the top of the water about 
once every 30 feet. As he struck the water the first 
time on the lake side of the boat, he splashed the water in 
our faces and at no time seemed to be afraid or alarmed, 
or very much in a hurry to get away. We watched him 
clear across the lake, and as I have rejieatedly stated the 
pleasure of watching this animal at such a close range was 
sufficient recompense to me for all the outlay of money 
and time and hardship spent upon the trip which we had 
in New Brunswick last fall. 
On another occasion on the same water two beaver 
passed within 50 yards of Mr. Nolan, of Chicago, and 
myself as we stood on the lake .shore, These animals 
