8 2 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. i, 1902. 
In the North Country, 
Part L— On the Sevogle. 
The season of planning had passed, and winter and its 
snows had vanished, and summer had drawn to its close, 
when one bright afternoon we left the city behind, bound 
for the North Country. 
In due course, after some thirty-six hours of travel, 
we arrived about 6 of a cloudy morning at New Castle, 
N. B., and immediately looked up my good friend, Mr. 
John Robinson, Jr., who in one word to the hunter and 
fisherman is the "man who knows." He had been on 
the watch for a good place for me for a year, and in an 
hour or so we had started off with our duffle by wagon 
for the first camp, which we hoped to make that night. 
We did it, too, for about 7 o'clock, with the stars show- 
ing brightly overhead, we stumbled and rolled down a 
steep hillside into an old lumber camp, and almost into 
the arms of our good cook Jim. We had but a few mo- 
ments to take in a long breath and look about on the 
tall pines, with the wind rustling in their tops, and hear 
the murmur of the Sevogle River, when Jim announced 
supper, and we were deep in the intricacies of partridge 
broth with potatoes, bread and tea. And it is to be 
supposed that our city appetites did as well as they knew 
how under the circumstances. That night we slept on 
the boughs as soft as ever we did at home. 
The next day Karl said, "I guess we better go to Pea- 
body," and off we went, a load on Karl's shoulders that 
I could hardly lift, and if he did not offer when we got 
tc the river to take me on top of the load. While we 
are climbing the hill and going around the windfalls I 
want to introduce Karl. He is about thirty, with blue 
eyes and clean, sharp cut features, and a voice that sounds 
honest either with or without birch horn. His last name is 
Bersing, and he calls himself a "Russian sailor," and the 
way he can go around through the woods does a man's 
heart good. He is a friend of John Robinson's, afore- 
named, and now he is a friend of mine, and many the 
time traveling along the wood roads have I silently 
thanked him for those little courtesies of hand and heart 
that money can never buy, and money never pay for. 
Meanwhile, we are traveling pretty fast under the yel- 
lowing birch leaves and over the softest of brown and 
green carpets. 
"How far are we going?" I asked. 
"Oh, a couple of miles," he replied, and I soon learned 
this to be the standard measure of distance in the woods. 
At the end of it, by a tiny rivulet, we raised our lean-to 
tent and cut a few boughs and a little firewood, and the 
house was completed and furnished. My sleeping bag 
was unrolled on the boughs, and my rifle shouldered, and 
again we were off. 
The next distance was a "mile — maybe more," and I 
decided on dividing the trail up into quarters and eighths, 
after the manner of the tenderfoot, that the "maybe 
more" was the biggest part of it. But there was the lake, 
some bright places through the trees, then opening out 
broadly, the big green woods hemming it in closely, 
crowding the gray waters and stony shores; and there 
in the mud and sand were the big heart-shaped tracks 
of moose, the broad, wide spread toes of caribou, and 
the sharp, little prints of deer. Thank God! we were 
among His wild creatures. Then came the thought that 
it was to do them no good, and the rifle in my hands 
seemed almost a sacrilege on the shores of that quiet lake. 
We got in Karl's skiff and paddled out to where we 
could see all around the shores. Nothing. Well, we 
could hardly expect the beasts to receive us at an "at 
home" so early in the day, and so we went a-fishing. 
The trout were "at home" anyhow, and a good supper 
was soon provided. What was that? Hark! It sounded 
like the cracking of a dry stick. Again we heard it 
coming from the nearest shore, and without a word we 
paddled over to some big logs and lay behind them. 
An hour went by. Nothing. 
Another hour, and no sound except a family of loons 
making merry at the lower end of the lake. 
A third hour was consumed in day dreaming, and 
then it being almost sunset Karl raised the yellow horn 
to his lips and gave a grunt. No answer except from 
the loon, which creature we cursed by all the saints 
in the calendar, only to provoke fresh mirth on his part. 
Again Karl raised the .horn, and a long, dismal wail 
beginning with a clear note, floated over woods and 
waters. Then it began to rain. Clouds had crept un- 
noticed over the blue sky, and a gentle drizzle was dot- 
ting the water. I began to doze, when suddenly Karl 
sat up and whispered, "There he is!" and sure enough, 
over on that high grassy bank, black against the gray 
light, loomed a tall beast with a light-colored face. At 
least 500 yards away — too far to think of shooting. 
Slowly the head turned, and the huge ears stood out. 
A cow! What a let-down! She showed entire indiffer- 
ence to both our disappointment and noise. The long 
wail rang out over the pond again and again, but no 
answering grunt came back, nor did the cow leave her 
evening meal. Meanwhile the shower was over and the 
sky had cleared. The pine tops had long been sharply 
defined ; now they were black against a sky that changed 
from blue to indigo and pearl. The stars came slowly 
out in their wonderful profusion, the Northern Cross, the 
Crown, over in the west, the Eagle in the south, and low 
down on the northern horizon the Pointers we all know 
so well. And night came with that mystery one feels 
belongs to it of right, and a suggestion of the east, where 
night seems to have had birth. One could easily im- 
agine the shifting shadows in the trees to be accom- 
panied by the rustle of her draperies and the earth to 
stand up with uncovered head and bated breath. In the 
last of the twilight we stumbled down the wood road 
over my fractions of a mile till they became multiples 
of a mile, through the thickening dark to our cozy 
little home under the trees, as happy as lords, for was 
not the pond all tramped up by "their majesties," and 
had not the good Creator shown us a little way down 
those hidden pathways of the world where life is to-day 
much as it was thousands of years ago. And so we sat 
before our fire and fried our trout and toasted our 
bread and our bacon on a forked stick; and as the 
fire and food warmed our bodies, it also touched our 
tongues and we made friends, Karl and I. Then in his 
pleasant voice he told me stories of the woods and 
the animals until the very pine trees seemed to bend over 
tc listen, and I knew it was time to go to bed. We took 
that look around upon the night that one always takes 
in camp, when the last log is put upon the fire, and 
found the stars blazing brightly in the stillness like 
candles in the evergreens, the trees just breathing, as 
they do quiet nights, to show our dear old mother 
nature is sleeping like a child, and when I lay down 
upon her breast in my blankets that first night in the 
open, I swear I could hear her heart throb. 
The lines of the great poet came to me, and I must re- 
peat them to Karl, who I was to find had a healthy dis- 
regard for them. 
Under the greenwood tree, 
Who loves to lie with me, 
And tune his merry note 
Unto the sweet bird's throat- 
Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 
Who doth ambition shun 
And lov»s to live in the sun, 
Seeking the food he eats 
And pleased with what he gets- 
Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 
The next thing I knew it was dark and quiet; the fire 
mostly gone out, save for a few red embers and the 
smoking end of a green log. I wondered at the sense 
of security the hearth and the light tent gave, and how 
comfortable and warm it was on the boughs. Then a 
brief blank again, and Karl was telling me it was time 
to get up to start for the lake. It was not as early as it 
should have been, and yet quite dark enough for my moc- 
casined feet to stumble over a log under the pines. 
That stumble cost me a shot, for we heard some large 
animal trot strongly off up the brook, but never knew 
what it was. Down at the lower end of the lake a cow 
and a yearling calf were feeding in the water about 
where we had seen the cow the previous evening. She 
was very large, and remained playing in the water for a' 
half hour after we had begun to call. Morning came 
with wonderful glory and beauty to that small lake 
among the pines, and the birds were singing as if it was 
springtime. As the sun rose, the wind rose with it, and 
blew hard all day. We tramped back to the Valley 
Camp and found the Doctor had gone some eleyen miles 
up country. The next day we followed, making some 
ten miles to another pond, where we camped for the 
night in a heavy shower, and had no chance to hunt, 
but most excellent sleeping, and the third day went on 
our remaining five miles to Clearwater. The forest was 
high and rolling, beautiful in color and full of partridges, 
so that in the fifteen miles my little .22 caliber stood for 
eight birds. On arriving at the camp we found that the 
Doctor had seen two bull moose on the lake and shot at 
the larger, with no result, and there was much discussion 
over his misfortune. Here we had a very comfortable 
little log camp that held our affections for a week. It 
had been newly built in the spring, and was nice and 
clean, barring a little mildew. Not a quarter of a mile 
away, on the brook, was a cleverly arranged beaver dam 
in the sluiceway of an old, neglected logging dam. It 
was 5 feet high and as thick through at the bottom, was 
some 8 feet across and as perfect a semi-circle as if 
drawn by compasses. The little workers had piled stones 
and sod upon the exposed places, and were adding to it 
while we were there. Meanwhile we, each of us, were 
getting some shooting, and this was the way of it. You 
know that one gets superstitious in the woods. 
The Doctor was an inveterate card player and a be- 
liever that the neighborhood of game is denoted by high 
cards and close rubbers. There is another friend of 
mine who thinks no trip can be successful unless he 
takes an old mirror with him that has survived so many 
rough experiences that its usefulness is long since past, 
and it is only utilized as a decoration of the lodge pole 
for a totem. To return, the first caribou the Doctor saw 
appeared at the critical stage of the seventh game of 
euchre, when the score was three games and four points 
all. He, however, did not consider the shot good 
enough to warrant the noise of the .30-30 in a good 
moose country. My private opinion is that the noise is 
not the worst thing that can happen when one is hunt- 
ing, although better avoided. But to return. 
The next day the Doctor arfd I were out behind the 
bushes on the pond playing euchre, and when two games 
all, out walked a caribou and began a hop, skip and 
jump side step over the bushes and mud in the irra- 
tional manner of his kind, but drawing nearer. As the 
Doctor had never shot one of these little reindeer, and I 
had one good head, we decided it to be his shot. Behind a 
bush went Mr. Greytop, took a sip of lake water, tasted 
a bunch of weeds and was then 120 yards away. "Now 
shoot," said I. "No; he'll come closer," was the an- 
swer I got; and sure enough he came on till again I 
said, "Shoot!" A bush now spoiled the Doctor's view, 
and one long jump took the gentleman of the barrens out 
of sight in the woods. 
The next morning we were playing poker, and after 
some pretty poor combinations, I got a full house, and 
was prepared to wreck the Doctor's fortune, and he, 
strange to say, was proving a more than willing victim, 
when suddenly a stick cracked, and there, behind me, was 
a pair of horns nodding along over the bushes to the left. 
Dropping the cards and picking up my Mauser, I 
aimed for a gray patch that was where the shoulder 
ought to be, and pulled. "Wang!'* went the sharp dis- 
charge, and Mr. Broadtoes was 20 feet away, and by so 
much nearer the woods. "Wang!" again: and he turned 
and faced us, coming very fast at an easy lope over a 
bush and around a little spruce, but straight for us and 
not over 50 feet away now. Ten feet in the next bound, 
and "wang!" went the little rifle for the third time, and 
I could almost touch his horns with my rifle barrel as 
he crumbled and rolled his head and shoulders into the 
mud and water at our feet. Now, that is an exaggeration, 
but it was not 25 feet to where he lay. The animal was 
bewildered only, and trying hard to get away, our being 
in his path was a coincidence. We thought the last 
shot only had struck him, but every bullet had made the 
body; one through the lungs, one in the throat, and the 
last, entering half-way up the neck, we took out under 
the* skin of the hams. It had gone the whole length of 
his body. 
Although he had only a small head, it was even and 
nicely branched, and there was a good inch of fat on the 
saddle and hams, so that I felt very happy over my 
contribution to the larder. It was with great regrets, 
however, we found that during the excitement our cards 
became so badly mixed that we did not know who won 
that hand. 
The same afternoon the Doctor was again sitting on 
the pond, this time on an old beaver house, and George, 
his guide, was calling. 
The cards had been running very evenly, and they 
stood pat on games. 
"It's about time for something to turn up," said the 
Doctor. 
"And there he stands," replied George. 
Less than 100 yards away the head and antlers of a big 
bull moose appeared framed by the trees, his eyes fast- 
ened on the beaver house. Neither man nor beast 
moved for a moment, and then the biggest and glossiest 
of his kind stepped out on the shore and gazed across 
the lake. "Bang!" went the .30-30, and he leaped into 
the air and half turned. "Bang!" again, and he rushed 
out into the water and stopped for an instant shoulder 
deep. "Bang!" for the time, but he had fallen before 
the flash of the gun, shot fairly through the heart by the 
little bullet. His horns were immense, looking as tall as 
a man, as the guides floated him into shallow water to 
skin out the head and cut up what meat we could carry 
away. He was in his prime — tall, strong and very black, 
a veritable half ton of flesh and bone, and his horns 
measured 53 J A inches in spread. To-day, I fear, the 
greater part of him taints the purity of Clearwater, but 
his passing was not a painful one; he never knew what 
struck him. 
Part II,— The Big Moose of Little Christmas Ponds. 
Karl had been trying to make me lie out on the meadow 
for a night without a fire, and I had refused point blank. 
"Anything with the fire," I would say, "but no night work 
without." "Well," he replied in his Russio-English, "We 
go up the brook to-day and camp under my blanket — she 
keep us dry." So we went over windfalls and through 
alders for a good "three mile," made a shelter out of 
an old blanket and some hemlock boughs, b'iled the kettle 
and journeyed on over one of the best marked moose 
roads I have ever seen for something like a mile to Little 
Christmas Pond. This water was simply a spring 50 
yards in diameter and a marsh as wide around it. Here 
we sat down in a blind made of little spruces, slapped at 
the black flies, watched the gathering clouds and waited. 
The Doctor had walked over with us, but did not remain 
very long. So we smoked and made occasional remarks 
about the wind in the tree tops and the lowering sky. 
It was useless to call, but about 4 P. M. we gave them 
a toot which seemed not to carry 100 yards, and lay down 
again in the long grass listening. I grew very drowsy, I 
must admit, in the sweet-smelling meadows, and came 
to understand why the spruce and fir trees around us had 
given the pond its name. I really expected to see Santa 
Gaus step out, leading, a couple of caribou to water and 
then hear him humming to himself of the fine crop of trees 
for the Yule Tide. Everything came to us in the wind; 
the noise of cities, the voices of children and the tinkling 
of cow bells. I looked over at Karl. His head hung for- 
ward, his eyes were closed, his pipe was cold between his 
lips. One always sees strange sights in the woods ; bushes 
and trees make curious forms, and spaces black with 
shadow become living and moving creatures. One black 
opening behind some low bushes began to take the form 
of that old saint the children love, his beard and whiskers- 
came out of the darkness; his old eyes,T could imagine, 
twinkled to see us out there dozing by the waterside, but 
he did not move. I turned away, listening, and then as I 
lay there, seemed to see a tall black form silently steal 
from the woods. Very high he stood on his long gray 
legs,- his head held majestically high before him as he 
slipped along, huge horns with wide paddles standing, up 
high above his head. It was such a thing as one dreams 
of. He appeared to see me easily and regarded me with 
courteous curiosity. This, thought I, is the owner of that 
immense track we crossed on the brook; this is the father 
of them all. His nose was held- like a hunting dog's in 
the air, and the nostrils quivered and expanded in the 
half-light. Still he stood and wrapped us in that wide 
look. The alders had made no noise at his approach, and 
now he stood out from them like an ebony statue. So he 
stood, and in that all-absorbing look he brought to me 
the answers to many questions. What was I here but an 
intruder. A creature of like make lived here. I must 
apologize before I shot. 
My gun ! It had been forgotten. I raised my hand to 
rub my eyes, and swiftly he passed out of sight as if 
fading away. "Karl," said I, "wasn't he big?" and drew 
in a long breath. 
"What?" said Karl, rubbing his eyes. 
"That moose," I replied. 
"I saw nobody," said he, using the personal as was his 
wont. "Nobody came out." 
"Yes, somebody did," I insisted, "You must have been 
asleep. The biggest moose in the world came out. See 
here," and I led the way over to where he had stood. 
There in the moss was a huge track. 
"This three, four days old. See this spider web over 
it. See grass growing up again straight. Before last 
night's rain, anyhow," said he, and after some discussion 
and many questions, he insisted I must have been asleep. 
I recognized the track was not fresh, so maybe I was 
asleep; I didn't know myself, but strongly suspected. 
That night as we lay under our blanket and boughs in 
