March 2§, igbi-j 
^48 
•vt'ould wfeigh froili ten to tvireiity pduii^s, according to 
thfe size and sfeasoil whfeii takeii, fall hidfes beirig niuph 
th'e heaviest. Thfe bat-k used iri stretchirlg wa^ usually 
ctedar, though ,that of elm and basswood was sonie- 
times usfed. Philbrobk arid Billings had tslkfeii advaii- 
tage of the sirioctth surface Of the ice, through which 
they had cut holes, sticking their poles down iritd the 
mud below, and slahting them so as to receive thfe full 
benefit of the sun. 
After dinner we retraced out steps to the loxVer flotid. 
About half way down this on the west side ivte tOdk a 
town line rumiing west which they had re-spottiSd d 
sable line. This line we followed some six miles, the 
whole length of the township, on the way taking two 
sables and a rabbit out of their log traps. Here let 
me say that a rabbit will eat meat or fish of any kind 
nearly as quickly as a cat would. It is certainly not 
done for the sake of the salt contained, as they take 
perfectly fresh meat. Red squirrels also, as every 
hunter knows, will eat any kind of fresh meat or fish. 
They will also eat each other out of traps, as I have 
seen done dozens of times. 
^incidentally I may say that on the way across I shot 
'^n<4i\[er moose, purposely hitting him in the kidneys to 
:note tfi\e eft'ect of the shot. After striking a few clips 
;at the (jlo^s, he reared straight up on his hindlegs and 
if ell back '4ea.d. 
lifter readying the end of the town line we turned 
fShqrt to the soi^th, and after about half a mile came to 
rone qf Pbilbrook's camps on a small pond on St. John's 
vwaters. iHere a fire, out of doors was still burning, and 
\nea,v to it .were the freshly skinned bodies of two each 
,of ibeaver, ;lynx and sable; A snowshoe track only two 
(or three hours old led sout!|i. 
This \wafi as if^r as Billings -J^d ever been, but as he 
ihad .heard iPhiibrook speak of having another camp, 
we concluded .to follow the track, taking with us half 
of one of the tbeao/ers for f^ar of ;his not having meat 
enough for so many visitors. 
After about two miles the ti-ack led to a stream with 
high banks, where was a beaver house above a very 
short dam. _We found where Philbrook had just set two 
traps for him. The beaver was living oa newiy mt 
wood, and I saw where he had felled a large white 
birch lengthwise of the stream instead of, as is their 
usual custom, toward the water. This had evidently 
been done intentionally, so that, as he cut them off, 
he could roll the pieces, they being too heavy for him 
to drag in if they had been lying lengthwise. 
After walking a mile or two further, we came to an- 
other small pond, on the further side of which we could 
. see the smoke of Philbrook' s camp. Approaching, we 
-t^jd Billings to go in first, and I remember Philbrook's 
.?j.si^j^g what in the world sent him over there so quick. 
' AfteJ^ward Farrar and myself slid down into the camp 
and c^qeived a hearty welcome, as Philbrook had been 
: my parfjt^/ in the fall of '59 on Caucomgomoc. 
His qawp; which had been built before the snow 
(.vcame, was ;-a]^put 7 by 10 feet, and intended for only one 
,anan. One' had to slide down in order to get into the 
, 4oor, as the 'snpm was four or five feet deep. It was 
; a . single camp, tne back being made of split fir, and 
^ protected from fire Py^rocks and earth piled against it. 
^ Our whole outfit of (^poking tools consisted of one 
lpii)t idi^per and a very shallow plate. In the corner 
aiest \tlie ,door Philbrook had his cooking establish- 
raaeaat. 'Hene ,he ;had a birch ,bark dish in which he 
mixed Ifis flour, ibis vwater being ,1^ .another dish of 
birch bark. He rolled .out his ,bi;^ead .on a sheet of birch 
bark with a rolling-pin made from -a stick of peeled 
maple. His food consisted m.t4iii;eily of -meait, )bre?J4 and 
tea. He baked the bread in the tin plate ai?d fried' his 
meat in the same plate, using a split stick for ?i .h^mdle. 
The place was not large enough to get in Gur&eiv.eSj 
and our snowshoes, and at night we had to leave our 
snowshoes out of doors. We had to lie edgewise and 
pass in the dogs over us, using therfl for pillows. When 
Philbrook got supper we ate up the moose meat he 
(iried in his tin plate so fast that it was a good while 
v/before he got his turn. 
The pond where Philbrook was camped was in what 
lis .yvow called Desolation, and is the pond where Pete 
iLa 'Eontaine was shot by a warden. I have noticed that 
xwithin a few years several sportsmen have written of 
rlli^cove-rang some of these ponds, and having been the 
fy^X to traverse this wilderness. I will say that fifty 
years ;ago all this country had been accurately mapped, 
and the man who within that time has discovered any 
place in Maine not visited before, has about as much 
right to claim the discovery as I should to discover 
foston Common, There is not a square mile in the 
tate that has not been hunted over a great many 
times. 
In the morning I found that my right ankle was very 
Ibadly swollen. I was not aware of having sprained it, 
and judge it came from the pull down of the green 
;moose shanks I had been wearing. Nevertheless, I 
[Started with Philbrook to look his traps. 
He showed me where the beaver were when he first 
found them, and the dam which they had built. It was 
the most singular one I ever saw. There were but two 
beavers, and they had built a house just where the 
brook entered the pond. As there was no chance to 
get any flowage on the stream, they had inclosed a 
portion of the pond about 50 feet long by one-half as 
wide with a semi-circular dam about 2 feet above the 
level of the pond. Instead of making the dam in the 
usual manner, they had put down sticks endwise, which 
still projected above the ice, and had filled in with brush 
and mud. The dam had a waste-way in the center, and 
had raised the water about 18 inches above the level 
of the pond. On coming back a most singular thing 
occurred. As I walked across the pond, and was just 
stepping over the dam close to the waste-way, the 
beaver suddenly plumped over the dam into the pond, 
throwing mud and water upon my snowshoe. We had 
probably disturbed him in looking traps two miJes 
above, and both of us had arrived at the dam at nearly 
the same moment. I did not see the beaver fairly, but 
saw the water bulge up and a large dark-colored mass 
plunge into the pond below the dam. 
In the afternoon the others concluded to go on a 
moose hunt, saying that as my ankle was so bad they 
would leave me to keep camp, I kept camp about five 
minutes and crawled out to the catnp door just in time 
to see them disappearing in the woods across the pond. 
It was nb use, ankle or no ankle, I was not going to 
be left, behind, so getting oh my sndwshOes, I started 
after them. It was very painful work at first, but in 
less than a mile I overtook them. 
Shortly after we found moose tracks, and as the dogs 
had not barked, we separated, Farrar and Billings 
circling to the left, while PhilbrOok and .1 kept on 
directly ahead. The deep snow filled up the space be- 
tween the ground and the lower branches of the trees, 
so that one could not see well without crouching close 
to the snow. Being ahead, I was doing this, when I 
saw fdui- pairs of legs-;-the bodies were entirely hid- 
den. Motioning to Philbrook, we both sat watching, 
when suddenly we heard the crack of two pistols, and 
the next instant a large cow moose, followed by & 
calf, came directly for us. It was very evident that she 
meant us. I held the rifle on her head, but she kept 
swinging it so that it was useless to fire. Not over 
eight or ten feet ahead of me was a tree which she must 
turn out for before getting to me. This would give me 
a chance at her shoulder. So I held the rifle ready and 
fired at her shoulder when she was not more than 
eight feet from the muzzle of the rifle. I jumped side- 
ways as I fired. The next moment Philbrook's pistol 
cracked, and looking around I saw the moose lying 
between Philbrook and myself. We were not fifteen 
feet apart. The calf stubbed his toes on his mother 
when she fell and nearly turned somersaults. 
As we had muzzleloaders, we stopped to reload, and 
soon heard a great barking of dogs and shouting in 
the direction the calf had taken. On getting there 
we found that Farrar had mounted the calf with his 
snowshoes still on and was trying to cut the calf's 
throat with his knife. The moose, although but a calf, 
was nearly as tall as a horse, and an animal not to be 
trifled with. Just as we came up, Billings put his pistol 
to the moose's ear and fired, killed the moose instantly. 
In falling he rolled on Farrar, pinning him down, and 
we had quite a time to get him out. The cow moose 
measured, after being skinned, six and a half feet from 
the flat of the foot to the top of the shoulder, and 
charged on us fully as viciously as I have ever seen 
a bull do. 
After skinning the moose and setting a log trap for 
fisher and one for sable, we started homeward. It may 
seem singular to the uninitiated to set a trap baited 
with a small piece of the same meat beside the carcass 
from which it was taken, but such is the nature of both 
fisher and sable that they will go into a trap, even 
though they have the whole carcass to feed upon. 
[to be concluded.] 
In Wild Pigeon Days. 
Some of your correspondents have of late been writ- 
ing of the passager pigeon, and I shall perhaps never 
have a better opportunity to tell your readers the little 
that I have known about thein in days long past. I 
remember that I wrote to the Green Bay Advocate 
some account of a visit I once made to a pigeon roost; 
but as this was before Forest and Stream was born, 
any repetition of what I may have said in print at that 
tmie is of little importance. 
Fifty or sixty years ago these birds were not uncom- 
mon m the State of Massachusetts, and were even 
netted to some profit by those who, for the most part, 
remembered or cherished the traditions of far larger 
flocks which, in former days, had visited that land. I 
recall the casual statement made by a man who, were 
he living, would be nearly ninety years old. that his 
father used, when the narrator was a small boy, to 
•frap pigeons in large numbers, and as the boy had not 
the strength of hand requisite to pinch the heads of the 
birds as "they protruded through the net, the old man 
made him a sjHjall hammer, with which to inflict the 
death blow. 
In my time jt was not usual to see many pigeons to- 
gether, and when this occurred it was usually where 
"beds" had been prepared and grain sown to attract 
theiTi._ There was, I believe, even special legislation 
favormg the pigeon netters, and I remember my dis- 
gust at hearing of some law forbidding the discharge 
of firearms within a specified distance of a pigeon bed. 
I thought at the time- that if a man wanted to secure 
the shootmg in a good woodcock cover, he had only to 
dig up a pigeon bed or so in the vicinity thereof. 
I have myself been warned not to shoot pigeons on 
the trees near a "stand," though, before the warning 
was given, I had not known of its existence. We rarely 
had shots at pigeons then, and I recall what seemed to 
me the singular fact that having on one occasion shot 
one of these birds, my dog, a setter who was a good 
retriever, sniffed at the pigeon, but refused to pick it 
up. 
In 1855 I saw many small flights of pigeons near 
Paw Paw, Van Buren County, Michigan, and was told 
that there was a roost a few miles distant. This I 
did not see. Later, in central Illinois, being out on an 
unsuccessful deer hunt, we shot with the rifle a few of 
these birds from the limbs of the trees in the Burr 
Oak Grove. They furnished the meat for our supper. 
The first large (or what seemed large) flocks of 
pigeons which I saw, came to Oconto County, Wiscon- 
sin, when I was living in the woods, about twenty 
miles from the mouth of the Oconto River. This was, 
I think, in May and June, 1871, and they passed north- 
ward m the morning and southward in the afternoon. 
Mr. Stratton (Antler) has since told me that the males 
had the morning flight and the females that of the 
afternoon. He well remembered the enormous num- 
bers of pigeons which formerly passed over New York 
State. 
My place, Riverwood, was on the banks of the 
Oconto River, and although I saw manv pigeons, I 
was otherwise occupied and gave them little attention. 
There was a family named Volk, living at Oconto 
Falls, then a little hamlet, where was a postoffice, about 
two and a half miles from my home, and on occasion 
I used to go there for the mail. One morning I was a 
little unwell, and one of these young men came to my 
house to borrow a gun. He was going after pigeons. 
So I lent him the gun, and taking another, walked up 
on a cleared hill toward the falls and sat down, while 
the young man aforesaid went to look for pigeons in 
the trees, which were not far away. 
Soon small flights began to pass, going north, and 
directly across the river. When I shot one, it would 
pitch over the bank and into the bushes, so that I took 
up a position further south and in a sort of hollow. 
I was not in good shooting form, my gun was heavy 
and I found that I could not make a double shot at 
the small flights which passed, yet my shots were gen- 
erally successful, and when the birds fell they would 
strike the ground near the north end of the hollow. 
After a while young Volk came back. 
"How many you got.-"' he asked. 
I counted the birds and replied, "Thirty-five; how 
many have you?" 
"Only three." 
The next time I weht tO the postoffice Mr. Heriry 
Volk said to me: 
"I wish you'd tell me how you manage to shoot 
pigeons?" 
I replied, in substance, that I generally pointed the 
gun about where I thought the charge would be most 
effective and cut loose. "But," I said, "I can tell you 
one reason why you do not get more, for I recently 
saw you and your boys loading and firing in the su- 
machs. The size of shot you are using is far too large-— 
about No. I or No. 2. Now I am shooting No. 8." 
"Well," said he, "I bought a new double gun, when 
the pigeons came, and we thought that with this and 
our other guns we'd get all we wanted, though we 
don't often hunt anything but deer; but yesterday 
morning Fred 'n I went down to the edge of the rocks 
that overlook a spring flat down by the river. The 
ground below was fairly blue with pigeons, and when 
we raised they all came up in a cloud, and we fired into 
'em. We thought we'd ought to a got a wagon load, 
but we didn't get not the derned one." 
I could not say much in the way of consolation, but 
intimated that one of the first things I had learned 
when shooting into flocks of birds, was that it is well 
to hold for some particular one and take your chances 
on the rest; otherwise the results are often unsatisfac- 
tory. 
Those men were good shots with the rifle at large 
game, but so far as I can remember, the only way that 
they ever managed to shoot any flying pigeons was by 
concealing themselves on the line of flight and firing at 
incoming birds. 
The roost frequented by these pigeons was distant 
from my place some four or five miles. It was back 
in the wilderness, and one day a party of us went 
through the woods until we found it. This party was 
seven in number, of which six carried guns. There was 
one very long man, one short man, one stout, one thin 
and three more of assorted sizes. The gun borne by 
the long man was nearly equal in linear' measurement 
to the distance across a quarter-section of land. The 
stout man carried an ax. He was "going for" the 
squabs. These two constituted the guides and inter- 
preters to the expedition. After traveling some miles 
through the woods, we halted in order to poke a hole 
through the swarms of black flies and mosquitoes with 
a gun barrel to see the sun and ascertain if the com- 
pass was correct. 
We were standing on the bank of a little brook with 
our guns resting on the ground, when a single pigeon 
went by like a bullet. I pitched forward my gun and 
fired as I would at a woodcock in a summer brake, and 
the stout man said, "Why, you shot three feet behind 
that bird." He judged by the smoke, but the pigeon 
fell, much to his surprise. I mention this in order to 
give some idea of the speed attained by these birds. 
About this time we struck a smell. It was peculiar 
— much like an old hen roost, and we were encouraged 
to proceed. Then we heard a noise. At first we could 
not tell what to make of it. As we proceeded it grew 
louder, and at last, as somebody expressed it, it was 
as the sound of a Woman's Rights Convention in full 
blast, pending a motion for the discussion of the 
"previous question." 
It was not long before we were in the tract of wood- 
land which was occupied by the pigeons as a roost, or 
nesting plaqe. I doubt if they had been disturbed be- 
fore our advent' This roost bore no comparison with 
those of whiph" I had read, 'yet it was a very remark- 
able sight. The trees were 'in' many' ca'ses' Urge pines 
and hemlocks, with some maples and 'beeches,' and I 
doubt if there was a suitable free on several " acres 
which did not bear many nests of the pigeons. Thie 
branches, however, were not broken do'wn by the 
weight of the birds, as in some cases of which I haql 
read. The nests were of the simplest, and contained 
but one squab each. In fact, these squabs were so fajt 
and large that it occurred to me that had there uij- 
luckily been two of them in a nest, the mother bird 
would have had to ship outriggers of some sort jn or- 
der to enable her to hover the brood properly. 
The pigeons were flying about in the tops of the 
trees, or were on the nests, and but few were shot in 
this place. The ax man leveled some trees, and se- 
cured what squabs we required. 
Toward evening we had reached the shore of a small 
pond, where the pigeons came, I suppose, to drink. 
The tops of the low trees were full of them, and for a 
while there was a constant fusilade. When we started 
for home we had, I think, 280 pigeons to carry. About 
eighty of these were squabs — we might easily have had 
many more. None of these birds, as far as T know, 
were sold or wasted. 
Somewhere about this time I shot twelve pigeons 
as they passed my house, and these, I believe, were 
all that I killed that season. 
In the summer (I think) of 1880 there were a good 
many pigeons in the woods of Antrim County, Michi- 
gan. They nested, as I think, in the woods to the 
north of Intermediate Lakes. One day, when I was 
dining on a boarding-scow, near the head of Six Mile 
Lake, they were continually fluttering about in the 
trees near by, and could probably have been shot in 
considerable numbers. I one day went out and shot 
seven, and those, I believe, were the last passenger 
pigeons at which I have pointed my gun. 
That same winter an effort was made in the Michi- 
gan Legislature to give some protection to these beau- 
tiful birds, but it was blocked by some old ignoramus 
