Jaw. 25, too2.1 
FOREST AND STREAM 
ea 
"An owl?" I questioned, half doubting that I had heard 
aright. 
"Yes. A great homed owl, most likely," lie responded. 
"He woke nic up from a sound sleep with his hooting." 
"I heard him night before last," said 1, and hastened 
to change the subject. I was beginning to have a very 
poor opinion of myself. 
On that same day a friend of my father's arrived in 
camp, a Mr. Drake by name. They had hunted and fished 
together for years, and next to my father, Mr. Drake ; 
occupied the most exalted position in my estimation of 
mankind in general. He was a short, fat, jolly looking 
man, who, to my way of thinking, had given evidence 
of an understanding far superior to that of most of our 
elders. There was so much of the boy about him that he 
could not fail to enter into the mysteries of a boy's 
world with due appreciation. He and my father greeted 
each other Indian fashion: that is. without effusion — 
merely a hand-shake and a short, "How!" His manner 
toward myself was tempered with a dignity that was en- 
tirely new to me. and I withdrew asbashed. Obviously 
these two were playing at some game to which I was a 
total stranger. It resembled, a little, what we children 
called "Indian," but if such were its true nature, Mr. 
Drake should have advanced on the camp with a war- 
whoop and scalped everybody, and then allowed himself 
to be scalped in turn. Either they did not understand 
the game, or else they had invented a new one of their 
own. Such were my conclusions at the time, and as I 
was evidently not to be a party to their sport I took my 
gun and announced that I was going after a partridge or 
two for supper. 
I followed the old logging road, and in due time arrived 
at the deserted cabin. How lonely and yet how restful 
and full of peace it seemed. I seated myself on a log. 
so old that it yielded slightly beneath my weight, and 
the stories that Jim, the cook, had told me about the 
place recurred to me. Immediately the camp became 
peopled with those sturdy men of long ago. tall, bearded 
giants nearly every one of them, with an oath ever ready 
on their lips, but with hearts as big as their bodies: 
Long Tom and Peshtigo Sam. and Squatty Jim. and all 
the rest of them; there they were before me. I could 
see the men coming home at night, tired after their long 
day's work. They stamped the snow from their boots 
in the doorway and entered the cabin where supper 
awaited their whetted appetites. Behind them came the 
teamsters, cracking their long whips and urging on the 
slow moving oxen, for they, too, were hungry and 
anxious to join the rest of the crew about the supper 
table. And after supper someone — Long Tom. most 
probably, for Jim had said that he was a great singer — 
Long Tom, then, started up a song, and all the men 
joined in the chorus, making the rafters ring, and the 
rude melody floated out in muffled strains upon the cold 
night air and was lost in the moaning of the winter winds 
wailing dismally through the tall pine trees. My fancy 
painted the picture very faithfully, and my imagination 
supplied the actors for the scene. What a fine lot of men 
they were, to be sure! And what had become of them all? 
I sat there dreaming about the life that once enlivened 
this spot, this old cabin now so lonely and deserted. 
Why had it been left to fall to decay, and rot like the 
log upon which I was resting? Why had not someone 
reclaimed it for a home? These were puzzling questions, 
and I registered a solemn vow that when I grew to man's 
estate I would return and make this place my home, and 
if the girl with the golden hair, that hung adown her back- 
in two long braids, refused to come with me. I would 
choose another partner, perchance another dark-haired 
Pocahontas, if I could but find her, and here would we 
live out our lives together. 
And as I sat there, a boy of fifteen. I unconsciously be- 
came impressed with the mutability of all things human. 
The same trees that now looked down upon this dwelling 
fashioned by the hand of man. these towering hemlocks, 
and here and there a still loftier pine, they had stood at 
their posts like faithful sentinels during all the interven- 
ing years, aye, and had stood there many decades before 
the ax was laid to the root of a single tree in all that 
vast wilderness; and men had come and gone, and men 
would come and go. and still would they stand there, 
grim old warriors, for Time passed lightly over their 
plumed heads. Some such thoughts as these — though 
vague and inexpressible at the time — filled my mind as I 
contemplated the quiet scene before me. 
1 was aroused from my reverie by the sound of a voice 
— my fathers voice — calling me by name. In some alarm 
I responded, and started back in the direction of the 
sound. Soon I met him hurrying along the road and 
gazing anxiously about him. 
"O, there you are!" he exclaimed, in tones of relief, 
as I appeared in sight. 'T was afraid you were lost. 
Where have you been all this time?" 
"Down at the old logging camp." I made answer. 
"What were you doing there?" he asked. 
"O, nothing," I replied, rather vaguely, "Just 
thinking." 
He did not question me further, but from that time on 
he seemed to take more of an interest in my exploits as 
a hunter. 
That was an ever memorable outing. Mr. Drake and 
my father never seemed to weary of playing at their game 
of "Indian." They would address each other in s:range. 
unintelligible Indian words. I remember a few of them — 
"kaget," '"cowin-nischin," "kenebuch;" so they sounded 
to my uneducated ears; or if a wolf howled when we were 
seated about the camp-fire of an evening, one of them 
would be sure to grunt out something that sounded 
like. "Ingen nepo kenebuch." These words signified 
nothing to my understanding, but all things to my im- 
agination, and impressed me deeply. I have since won- 
dered if there was really any actual meaning attached to 
them, of if these two men were only "just pretending." 
I fancy that most men play at "Indian" or some such 
thing, when they shake off the shackles of civilization for a 
brief period and dwell in close communion with nature, It 
is a part of their boyhood which they never can outgrow. 
The thing that impressed me the most, and showed me 
that in spite of the discrepancy in our ages we three were 
after all closely akin to one another, was the unmis- 
takable fondness for mother earth, commonly called dirt, 
as displayed by my two companions. Mr. Drake, in par- 
ticular, seemed unhappy until he had besmeared and be- 
smudged a brand new pair of yellow buckskin breeches 
past all semblance of their original color ; and I called 
to mind the many painful limes that T. and every boy of 
my acquaintance, had been unrighteously chastised for 
accidentally committing a similar offense against some 
new article of apparel. 
Willy nilly. man of mature years, your daily acts are 
closely noted by some youthful observer who is constantly 
passing judgment upon you. therefore are your responsi- 
bilities great, for your judges are merciless beings, and 
"out of thine own mouth shall they condemn thee." 
Children are natural hero worshippers, and every man is 
a hero to some child. There generally — invariably. 1 
might say — comes a sad day of awakening for the child, 
and it is a pity, a great pity, that that day should ever 
davvn. Mr. Drake and his yellow buckskin breeches 
lingered long in my memory, and impressed me as an- 
other evidence of the inconsistency of my elders and 
betters. 
Altho ugh slightly disillusioned with respect to Mr. 
Drake's and my father's in fall bility on all matters per- 
taining to the woods — owing to their blunders — the forest 
itself, with all its wondrous charms, but more than any- 
thing else, the old logging camp, fulfilled my fondest ex- 
pectations and desires, and created a love for the real 
om-of-door life that the passing years only serve to 
strengthen. Many moons have waned since I vis ted that 
far away spot on the shores of the dreaming lake, and 
I often" wonder if there if anything left of that lonely 
lumber camp among the pines, any thing save, mayhap, 
a lew moss-covered logs lying prone upon the ground 
like grave-stones in an old churchyard; and I never flee 
from "the busy marts of men" to some quiet retreat in 
the wilderness without calling to mind the day when my 
eyes were first opened to the true joy of living, the joy 
that all lovers of the woods may so easily partake of in 
all its fullness; and somehow that old logging camp is 
closely associated with this awakening of mine. 
As I sit here in my den writing down these brief 
memoirs of some happy days I have known. I cannot but 
think of "the many thousands of care-encumbered men" 
who toil from early morn till gloomy night, thankful to 
earn their meagre hire — a mere pittance, barely sufficient 
to keep body and soul together — and living out their 
barren, uneventful lives without the faintest conception of 
the real world in which they live — that "world beautiful" 
which the Maker of all things created and said in His 
wisdom, "Behold . it is very good." And then my 
thoughts carry me back to that lonely cabin beneath the 
p ries, standing there deserted and fast falling to decay 
for lack of human occupant, and I say to myself: 
"Here is a strange paradox. The world is wide, and 
there is room for all, where with honest toil and not too 
great diligence men could build their homes and taste 
of happiness; and yet. not many miles away, like rats in 
a cage, they die for want of bread, and know naught but 
misery, wretchedness and misery from the cradle to the 
grave." 
Verily, this cabin of mine stands as a monument 
whereon one may read a message of wisdom, and learn 
many things; and for him "who hath ears to hear" there 
is a wondrous sermon in the low voiced munuurings of 
the tall pines as they chant their never-ending funeral 
hymn over the cabin's crumbling walls. 
Favkttk Durux. 
The Charming Man of the Maine 
Woods. 
Only those sportsmen who have visited in the "far- 
back" Maine lumber camps and have talked with tlu old- 
timers among the choppers have heard the "charming 
man" discussed in all his picturesqueness. He is the 
mysterious "great medicine man" of the Maine woods. 
There is much of the occult about this individual, or 
rather individuals. There have been numerous incarna- 
tions of this spirit of healing and divination. Probably 
many of these charming men who have roved on their 
strange mission from Meg-antic to Molunkus, and from 
Connor Plantation to Greenville have been veriest charla- 
tans. Nevertheless, they form one of the most interest- 
ing phases of character in the deep Maine woods. 
Perhaps, too, many of the stories told about the charm- 
ing man and his exploits are apocryphal, but, on the other 
hand, many are vouched for, and afford a strange chapter 
in woods lore. It is my friend. The Doctor, who gives 
me a late instance of the work of the charming man. 
As The Doctor was directly concerned in the affair, his 
story is worth while. 
"I was hunting last month in the region above Upper 
Lobster Lake east of the Chinch. 11," says he. "Now. 
you know I have been in the woods every season f< .'• 
ten years, and I never was lost up to that time. I did 
get lost, though, that day. I don't have the least idea 
how it happened, but all at once 1 found myself wan- 
dering through the woods with no very clear idea where 
I was going nor why. for I had told the guide that I 
would meet him at the head of the lake for snack. 
"Well. I traveled around quite a while. I'll tell you 
just how I felt— it was as though something all at once 
had set me into a brown study and then when 1 came out 
of it I looked around to find that some sprite had moved 
the sun and had skeow-wowed the scenery around in 
some way that I failed to understand. Never had tha 
happen to me in the woods before! In what I am going 
to relate I do not want to be considered too crcdu'ous. 
but that mystification of the morning made .he late-; 
events of that day more impressive. 
"After a time I climbed the side of a hill and took a 
look around to sec if I could locate any landmark. Off 
to the east of south by my compass I spied a column of 
smoke wavering up over the trees. I was so turned 
around that I couldn't tell whether the lake lay in that 
direction or not. but I scrambled down the hill and 
plowed away in that hope. 
"The smoke must have been five miles away, and it 
took me more than an hour to cover the distance. But 
I finally came into a clearing. There was a lumber camp 
there. No one was in sight outside, but in the free and 
easy way that prevails in the woods, I walked across the 
clearing, stamped off the snow in the dingle and walked 
into the camp. I never got such a surprise in all my life. 
Half a dozen of the crew were in the camp. They all 
jumped up and rushed toward me. One of them yelled: 
Be you the doctor?" 'Well. I'm a doctor.' I said. 
'Don't that beat all tophet, fellows?' cried the man; 'he's 
the doctor. And he's right here on the dot, too. We've 
been lookin' for ye." he stuttered, turning to me and 
fairly trembling in excitement, T commenced to get 
some interested myself. 
" 'You folks appear to have been looking for me,' I 
suggested. 
" 'You bet we have.' the cook replied, twisting his 
bare arms in his apron. 
" 'He said you'd get here at four o'clock.' he added, 
pointing to a little nickel alarm clock that hung beside 
a bunk. It was then a few minutes past the hour. 
" 'No one has sent for rite,' said I, 'and I didn't know 
where I was coming. What do you people mean by 
saying that I was expected? I've been lost in the woods.' 
" That's jest what he said. - shoiued seve'ral men in 
chorus, jostling together in their excitement 
" "Who said so?' 1 demanded, with a bit of temper, for 
it suddenly occurred to me that the men were "joshing' 
tilt for their amusement. 
" 'The charming man,' they answered. They were so 
earnest that I realized they were not jesting, though for 
the life of me I couldn't understand what it all meant. 
" 'He's right there in the bunk,' explained the cook. 
" 'This charming man you were sptaking of?' I asked. 
T had never heard of a charming man before and I wanted 
to see the curiosity. 
" 'No, the man that got hurt.' said one of the crew. 
'The charming man went away." 
"It was dusky in the camp and one of the men carried 
a lantern to a bunk in the corner. There lay a man 
with his foot swathed in a torn blanket and an old coat. 
'He chopped himself on the ankle,' one of the men ex- 
plained. While they held the lantern I unwrapped the 
bandages, my professional instincts suppressing, for a 
time, the questions I wanted to pump at the men. It was 
a bad case. The ax had partly severed the ankle at the 
joint, and the wound, treated by such rude methods as 
were at hand in the camp, was past the point where it 
could be healed. 'He hurt it three or four days ago,' 
said one of the crew. 'We done what we could for him, 
but T guess it wasn't very much.' 
" "That foot must come off." I told them. 
*' "That's jest what he said.' was the immediate chorus. 
'The charming man said so.' added the cook, noticing 
my astonishment at their excitement over my simple 
statement. 
"I assure you I was getting mighty interested and 
curious by this time, but the doctor in me was on top. 
I started one of the men off to the sporting camp for my 
case of instruments that I always take into the wood* 
with me. Then I sat down to wait and to listen to the 
story the men had to tell me. 
"The camp was on Matthews' operation, near the 
Upper Lobster. The injured man was one of the 
swampers, and when he had hacked his ankle the men 
had put on a tourniquet in the best style they could and 
lugged him to the camp, Word was sent by tote-team 
for a doctor, but the nearest one was an hundred miles 
away. On the morning of that day when I arrived at the 
camp a stranger had appeared. The men told me that 
he was about sixty-five years'of age. wore a tight-fitting 
siv't of ribbed wool like a union undergarment, and over 
that a huge blanket coat. On his head was a knitted cap 
with the peak hanging down his back. The garb was 
suited well enough to woods' life, but it was all a dead, 
deep black, and indicated that our mysterious friend was 
a bit "s;agy.' The men went on to tell me that the 
stranger walked into the camp and up to the bunk where 
the injured man lay. and announced in deep tones that 
lie had come to heal. But after he had looked the v'c- 
tim over he said that he could only charm away the in- 
flammation. "The foot must be cut off," he declared, 
'and I do not stain my hands in human blood. My mis- 
sion on earth is to alleviate suffering. I can summon 
here the man who will do the work, and T will remove 
all pain.' 
"The man then drew some unknown substance from 
his pocket and threw it upon the coals that he raked for- 
ward on the camp hearth. A dense, black Ainoke went 
rolling up the short chimney. The men in the camp 
described this operation as 'burning medicme.' a resource 
that is occasionally adopted by the Penobscot Indians 
in the woods when they seek for good fortune in hunt- 
ing or in recovering lost articles. While the stuff smoul- 
dered and smoked the man jabbered in low tones. Then 
he suddenly broke out. "He is coming this way— he is 
crossing a brook, he is climbing a hill — now he sees the 
smoke — he will come ro this place — he is the surgeon 
who will do this work!' 
"The crew then explained that at this point one of 
them had the assurance to brace up to the stranger and 
ask him what he was trying to do. The charming man 
explained with great dignity tha. through his spell he 
had caused a hunter — a city doctor — who was then five 
miles from that place, to lose his way first and then espy 
the smoke rolling up from the camp hearth. "He will be 
here in just one hour by that clock,' he sta ed. 'He 
will send for his tools and will cut off that man's eg. 
Tell him for me that there will be no pain from the 
operation and no blood to speak of. neither will there be 
inflammation following. I have attended to all that. I will 
return in two weeks for my pay. If it all doesn't come 
about as I have said, you need give me nothing. Re- 
member, the doctor will come in an hour.' 
'".And sure enough I did, and under those circum- 
stances, you see. my lively reception was not astonishing. 
"While I was waiting for the instrumen s I examined 
the patient with great interest. I determined that he 
was in a hypnotic trance. I tested him with the tln r 
mometer, took his pulse and listened to his respiration. 
They were not far from normal, but the man was en- 
tirely insensible. 
"He remained in that condition through the operation 
which I performed without anaesthetics after I had made 
tests and had found that he was apparently insensible to 
pain. But little blood followed the knife. The manner 
in which the Hmb had been bound by the rude tourniquet 
was partly responsible for the slight bleeding, but I am 
ready to testify as a surgeon that the bleeding was ap- 
parently somewhat controlled by the patient's condition 
pyschically as well as physically. But what was more in- 
teresting still was the fact that when the man came on 
from his stupor the next day he felt no pain in the leg, 
