FOREST AND STREAM. 
(June 14, 1002. 
My First Sight of the Sea. 
I was fifty years of age the very month that I got 
my first sight of the ocean. In these days of rapid 
transit and cheap rates of travel, it may seem strange to 
some that a man living within 400 miles of the sea 
should have reached that age without ever seeing the 
ocean. But the facilities for visiting the seaside were 
not always so excellent as now; but as it is, I imagine 
there are a good many people fifty years old living 
within 400 miles of the ocean who have never beheld 
that sublime object. I have been at the seaside more 
than once since, but I shall never forget my first sight 
of the sea. It was in the late afternoon of a glorious 
July day that I walked out of the railroad station at Cape 
May, and came full upon the Atlantic, that lay broad and 
high and illimitable before me — the image of eternity. 
I had always from my childhood a passionate desire 
for the sea. The first book I ever read, at least the 
first book I ever read through, was Robinson Crusoe. 
I was a little fellow of only nine or ten years, when a 
small copy of that immortal romance came into my 
hands. It was an adptation of the work for juvenile 
readers — an edition that I have never seen since, unless 
at was once — but it was enough to fill my childish mind 
with objects and associations that never left me. It 
revolutionized all my previous ideas, and the ambition 
to be a stage driver, which had formerly occupied my 
thoughts, gave way to the determination to be a sailor. 
Hut to show how little one is the architect of his own 
fortunes, instead of being a sailor, I have never been on 
a ship, and so far from manipulating the ribbons over 
the backs of four fiery steeds, I could not be safely 
trusted to drive a huckster's cart. So melt away the 
dreams of our youthful days. 
But to get back to our subject. Somebody told me 
that Alfred Matthias had a "big" Robinson Crusoe. 
Alfred Matthias was a young gentleman connected with 
our village newspaper, the Appalachian, of which he was 
afterward for some years editor and proprietor. I was 
a little boy and he was a young man; but my desire to 
read the "big" Robinson Crusoe was so great that it 
overcame my awe of him, and I went to the printing 
ufficc to ask him if he would lend it to me. I remem- 
ber he asked me my name, smiled pleasantly on me, and 
lifting up the front edge of his "case" he reached in and 
drew out the bonk. It was quite a large book, and I 
marched off with it, full of happiness. Alfred Matthias 
afterward served his country gallantly through the great 
civil war. He has been dead a number of years, but I 
have not forgotten him. He treated me with kindness 
and respect when I was a little boy, and that is why I 
write his name here now, more than fifty years after- 
ward. 
The big Robinson Crusoe duly dispatched, it was 
speedily followed by Peter Wilkins, Sinbad the Sailor, 
Tack Wilson, the Cabin Boy, Don Ramon, the Rover, 
Robbins' Journal and such other sea literature as was 
ayailable in a country town. All this and much more 
of the same kind lay fructifying in my mind for forty 
years, so that I was well prepared to be enthusiastic at 
my first sight of the sea. It would not have been pos- 
sible to have ordered that first view more favorabljr. The 
glorious afternoon sun fell over land and sea. The tide 
was out and the broad, sandy beach alone lay between my 
feet and the water. Beyond the great sparkling ocean 
spread off to the horizon, and rounded up in a manner 
that surprised me; and as if no desirable detail should 
be wanting, a large three-masted ship with all its snow- 
white sails set, stood afar off on the very sky-line, verily 
like a "painted ship upon a painted ocean." A more 
attractive picture I think the eye of man never beheld. 
An hour later my wife and I walked down to the 
beach. I made a little depression in the sand at the 
water's edge, and when it had filled, I scooped up a 
handful of the water and put it to my lips — my first 
taste of the ocean brine, of which shortly afterward I 
got plenty. My first view of the ocean, as I could have 
wished to see it, was when it was in a placid mood; but 
the next day came up a fearful storm. Nothing could 
have pleased me more. I wanted to witness a storm 
at sea. I walked down to the shore. The thunder 
boomed across the water and the white-crested waves 
came rushing in like racers to the goal. Some vessels, 
stripped of their sails, I could dimly see through the 
rain staggering along away in the offing. My first visit 
to the seaside would have been lacking in one feature of 
great interest without this thunderstorm. 
At Sewell's Point, three or four miles away, a hulk 
lay up against the sand. A part of the masts and rig- 
ging remained. You could see it from the pier at Cape 
May. It was the wreck of a brig driven in there by 
some storm a good while before. My wife and I went 
up to see it. It lay with the bow to the shore. The 
sand had drifted around it until scarcely one-half of its 
bulk was in sight; yet it was too high to climb into. 
Some frayed rope-ends were swinging in the breeze. 
The waves lapped against the stern and sides. Gulls 
were flying about it, their white wings glancing in the 
sunlight. It was a wreck, sure enough, and as I ap- 
proached it, I half expected to see Robinson Crusoe 
clambering up by means of a piece of rope that "hung 
down by the forechains," as in his immortal story, or 
lowering over the side "two or three bags full of nails 
and spikes, a great screw-jack, a dozen or two of hatchets, 
and, above all, that most useful thing called a grind- 
stone." O, the illusions of youth — how they hang about 
us even in our advanced years! 
All this must seem very trivial to my readers, and no 
doubt is so, but to me it was a matter of vast import. 
It was the realization of the dreams and imaginings of 
forty years. Every detail of those first ten days by the 
seashore was all that could have been asked. They were 
halycon days, never to be forgotten. And so now, sit- 
ting in the gathering twilight, I look up at the picture 
of the ships in Calais Harbor, that hangs against the 
wall, and drop into reverie, and thence, like Silas Wegg, 
"into poetry," to this effect: 
The Ships. 
The ships have come across the sea; 
I see them at their anchors ride 
Upon the harbor's peaceful tide; 
The jocund sailor gaily sings 
While folds the ship her snowy wings, 
A6 glad in harbor safe to be. 
From Borneo's spice-scented shores, 
Or vine-clad slopes of far Azores, 
From c jcoa-bearing Friendly Isles, 
Where everlasting summer smiles, 
From cities opulent and gay 
Of further Ind' or old Cathay, 
With precious cargoes home they httste 
Across the ocean's trackless waste, 
O waft, ye winds, across' the sea 
The ship I freighted long ago 
Witli golden hopes — for well 1 know, 
That somewhere on the underworld 
She hastes with all her sails unfurled 
And flying pennons back to me. 
Her hold is filled with precious stores, 
Willi rarest gems and richest ores — 
The sacred trusts of Memory— 
And some day shall my argosy. 
Careering o'er the dinipled seas 
With all her canvas to the bfeese, 
Into the haven smoothly glide, 
And rest at anchor on the tide. 
T. J, CHAfMAN. 
To the Snow Line of the Himalayas 
(Continued from page 448 ) 
We started from Mussourie with some food ready 
cooked, but, excepting within two marches of that sta- 
tion, our shotguns and rifles supplied all the meat re- 
quired during the whole journey. We went the first 
day through Landour, along a good Government road 
to Teree, a native state rided by a Rajah. A road 
branches thence and leads to the source of the river 
Ganges called Gangoutree, a very sacred spot, visited 
annually by thousands of Hindoo pilgrims. It has a 
temple, the priests of which reap rich harvests from the 
offerings of the worshippers. We crossed the Ganges 
at Teree by an iron suspension bridge of European 
manufacture, and diverged from the main road into a 
path which led to the northeast into the Mountains. 
The heat in some of the deep, narrow valleys was very 
oppressive and in one of them S was obliged to lie for 
a time in the shade of a bush, being too exhausted to walk. 
The paths were toilsome, being very narrow and steep, 
beside being covered in many places with loose stones. 
We agreed to shoot birds as the opporunity occurred, 
but that each would in turn have the first shot at any 
large game that might be seen. 
During the second day's march a gooral was seen on 
the side of a mountain above our path. S did not 
care for the climb, so I went, accompanied by Jahtroo. 
The ground was very steep and rugged and we were 
some time in reaching the spot where the gooral had 
been observed. Suddenly on raising our heads over a 
rock we looked into a shallow valley where four or five 
of the animals were grazing. They seemed to have 
noticed us, and instead of waiting a few moments, I fool- 
ishly leveled the Purdey rifle while still panting for 
breath, and fired at the shoulder of one about 60 yards 
distant. The foresight was describing figures of eight 
all over his body and I missed. While they were mov- 
ing off among the masses of rock with which the valley 
was covered, I snatched the two groove rifle from Jah- 
troo and fired both barrels, missing again. It was very 
annoying, losing such a chance through being in too 
great a hurrj'. I could not tell whether the goorals had 
been alarmed by Jahtroo's head or mine, but have always 
been more successful in stalking game alone, with a 
coolie some distance behind, than when accompanied by 
a native hunter. 
The gooral, often called the Himalayan chamois, is 
about the same size and shape as that animal, but with 
hair of a gray color and slightly tinged with brown. 
Under the throat it is white, The horns are nearly 
black, five or six inches long, with rings at the base. 
They curve backward to sharp points, but have no 
hooks like those of the European chamois. Unless very 
close to gooral it is difficult to distinguish the bucks 
from the does. 
Their favorite resorts are the steepest side of rocky 
hills and they can be found feeding on the narrow grass- 
covered ledges which project from the faces of perpen- 
dicular cliffs. When alarmed, they make a short, loud 
hiss. Their flesh is stated in books to be always tough, 
but we did not find it so in two, which were subse- 
quently killed. 
A day or two afterward we were walking in single file 
along the side of a mountain near its base, a small 
stream running about 100 yards below the path. The 
next mountain rose steeply from the stream, and on its 
slope, exactly opposite where we stood, we noticed a 
"kahkur," or barking deer, feeding. 
S was one of the best judges of sporting distances 
that I ever met, and we both agreed that the deer could 
not be more than ninety yards from where we stood. 
He fired with the 100 yards sight and I saw some splin- 
ters of rock knocked up by the bullet, apparently only a 
few inches behind the fore feet of the deer. The latter 
evidently mistook this for a fragment of rock falling 
from above. He was not much alarmed, and after a 
short rush, moved on at a fast walk. I exclaimed "By 
Jove! he must be one hundred and fifty yards away, and 
raising the leaf sight for that range, I fired with the 
Purdey rifle. The bullet struck rather too far behind 
the shoulder and the deer ran about fifty yards before 
dropping. Jahtroo crossed the ravine with two coolies 
and brought back the carcass. We cut off sufficient 
from one of the haunches for our dinner that evening 
and gave the remainder to our men. The flesh was 
fairly tender, but had a slightly rank flavor, which the 
Worcestershire sauce corrected, so that we enjoyed it 
very well. 
Judging distance in mountains is often difficult. 
Across undulating ground game appears, I think, further 
away than it really is — While it seems much hearer across 
de.ej? valleys. 
Sometimes when walking along ravines I have thought 
that a stone could easily be thrown to the opposite bank, 
but on trying it, have usually seen the stone drop on 
my side of the stream, which flowed at the bottom. 
The kahkur, "barking deer," "ribfaced deer" (Cer- 
vulus aureus) is a variety of the "muntjac." It frequents 
the wooded parts of the Himalayas up to 8,000 or 9,000 
feet above the sea and is also found on the Nilghif i 
mountains in Southern India and in Ceylon. The hair 
is of golden ted color, but White Under the throat, abdo- 
men and tail. Oh the top of the buck's head ate tWb 
Cylindrical columns of bone, covered with skin and hair, 
which ih a full grbWri animal ate four inches high aha 
three-foUrths inch in diameter. The parts of the ant- 
lers Which are, at times, shed, grow from the tops of the 
colttihs to a length of five or six inches. The buck has 
two canine teeth about two inches long, projecting 
downward from the Upper jaw, and used, as well as the 
horns, for defensive purposes. Sir SamUel Baker stated 
that dogs attacking these animals sometimes received 
rather severe cuts from the tusks. 
A full gfoWn deer is tWo feet high at the shoulders. 
Its haine is derived from a habit of uttering, when 
alarmed,, a succession of shott, lohd barks, resembling 
those of a medium sized spaniel, During, the whplt 
iuarcll to the snows and back, which occupied six Weeks, 
wc shot a sufficient quantity of feathered game to supply 
all the flesh meat we required, and gave all the four- 
legged animals to our men, excepting enough for one 
meal from each. We killed numbers of green fruit eat- 
ing pigeons (Crocopus phcenic-optcrus) black part- 
ridges (Francolinus vulgaris) and various pheasants, 
chiefly the kind called by the natives kahleej. There 
was also a pigeon about twice the size of a blue rock 
and of a light gray color, the name of which I could not 
find out. The green pigeons Were delicious in flavor, 
when they were roasted or made into curries. The kah- 
leej pheasant is as large as a barndoor fowl. The plumage 
is composed of both black and white feathers, the latter 
predominating. Around the eye is a ring of very minute 
scarlet feathers. In the breedihg season the cockbird 
makes a drumming noise with his wings, resembling that 
of the ruffed groUse. They are fond of roaming in the 
woods ndar the cultivated fields, so We Usually shot them 
When strolling in the evenings bne or two miles from oiir 
camp. 
The green pigeons and black partridges were mostly 
found while actually on the march. I generally walked 
a few yards in front, with a rifle, while S kept a 
coolie carrying his shotgun behind him. The rapidity 
with which he would seize this, raise the hammer to full 
cock and fire, was almost like a feat of legerdemain. 
The black partridge, when startled, springs from the 
ground to a height of ten or twelve yards and then 
swoops in a long downward curve to the opposite side 
of the valley. On various occasions during our marches 
a bird rose in this manner from a bush in front of me 
and every time, without one failure, just as he reached 
the end of the upward spring, I heard the gun explode, 
saw the feathers driven aside by the shot and the part- 
ridge falling dead through the air. 
Sometimes when we saw pigeons flying among the 
trees, or when the ground we were crossing was fairly 
level, we both carried the shotguns and walked in a line 
with the coolies, ready for any small game that pre- 
sented itself. Frequently the partridges were heard 
crowing on the side of the mountains above our path. 
S- did not care for any unnecessary climbing, so I 
used to send one of the coolies to put up the bird 
while I walked in a line thirty or forty yards below him 
and fired when the partridge passed over my head. In 
this manner we never failed to have plenty of food for 
each meal. 
After several days' march we descended the side of a 
mountain (the upper part of which was covered with a 
forest of trees like the Scotch fir) into the valley of the 
Bilking river, a tributary of the Ganges, which flows 
into the latter near the town of Teree. 
The Billung, where our path joined it, was sixty yards 
wide and crossed by a suspension bridge made almost 
entirely of bamboo. A quantity of this, split into fibres, 
was twisted into two large ropes, the ends of which were 
tied round enormous pieces of rock. These, at one 
extremity of the bridge, rested in a cavity which had 
been excavated on the side of the mountain. At the 
other extremity they were laid on the ground, the ropes 
having been first passed over a pile of rocks, to raise 
them to a sufficient height. 
The foot path of the bridge was made of pieces of bam- 
boo about four feet long and three inches diameter, each 
piece being slung to the large pair of ropes by a couple 
of bamboo fibre ropes as thick as a man's thumb. 
Fig. 3 is an Indian ink copy of a water color sketch 
which I made of the bridge. I was surprised at seeing 
one of the coolies, although a native of the mountains, 
become so nervous when half way across, that for some 
time he was unable to move. There was really no dan- 
ger so long as a man held the ropes tightly and did not 
become dizzy by looking at the water rushing under- 
neath. 
Bamboo bridges of similar construction are common 
in the Himalayas. In some places they are made of 
nothing more than three ropes — two for a traveler's 
hands and one lower down for his feet. On .bridges 
like that in the illustration, ponies and sheen are able 
to cross if the footpath be covered with masses of reeds 
and earth, but, of course, this is only done with animals 
reared in the mountains. The native name for a bridge 
is jhoola, a word meaning, literally, a swing. A few 
marches further up the valley we crossed the river again 
by stepping or springing from rock to rock at a place 
where it was only forty yards wide, and some days 
afterward our path led back to the right bank. Here 
we crossed another bamboo bridge, which was slung 
between perpendicular walls of rock, through which the 
