FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 3t, 1963. 
streams will recognize the ''blackened timber," the 
"racing waters," the "raw-right-angled log-jam" at 
what seems to be the "end" of the water, whether seen 
from above or below the jam, making a raw spot in 
the sylvan scene. I doubt if an}' other five words in 
the English language can be combined to paint so true 
a picture as is presented to the mental vision of any- 
one who has ever seen a jam of logs. I am persuaded 
that neither Mr. Brown' nor Mr. Ashcroft ever saw 
what I attempted to describe in a sketch of an outing 
on Grand L&ke stream in the State of Maine, written 
forty years ago. Mr. Hardj' and Mr. Ames will recog- 
nize me picture, badly as it is painted. 
* * * "As it was useless to lish while the drive 
lasted, we spent an hour or two very pleasantly in 
watching the operations of a gang of men employed 
in breaKing a small obstruction, which had formed 
below the lall, wliere the water pitches over a ledge 
into a long stretch of wild rapids. Above this ledge 
the stream is narrow and rapid, but the rise of water 
consequent on lifting the gates in the dam at the 
"corporation house,' caused the stream to overflow 
this channel and spread over a rocky and rugged 
shore. I'o watch the action of the logs as the pressure 
of the water behind piled them up into all tantastic 
shapes, was most interesting" and exciting. Sometimes 
logs would rear up on end, like restive horses, and 
then tumble over backward, sideways, or forward, as 
their weight and balance inclined. In their wild antics 
they would form all sorts of figures, from right angles 
witn the logs against which iney impinged to acute 
angles with the body of the jam, and every degree of 
obliquity with the water and the shore. At times a 
more or less perlect isosceles triangle would tremble in 
the air, while scalene triangles would form and vanish 
in a twinkling of the eye, A short turn in the stream, 
just above tlie ledge, offered every facility for the for- 
mation of a vast jam, which would be a serious matter 
for the drive, and the utmost activity was necessary to 
prevent this troublesome and dangerous occurrence. 
About a dozen men were busy as bees in a strange 
hive; they seemed to possess the gift of ubiquity, for 
they were everywhere at once, with keen eyes, steady 
feet and strong hands, pushing, prying and rolling witn 
strong peavics the logs that grounded or caught 
against the rocks of the shore. Despite their strenu- 
ous exertions the nucleus of what might grow to be a 
very serious jam, had formed on the very verge of the 
pitch into the rapid, and unremitting exertions were 
made to prevent its growing, while several men took 
turns at ttie difficult task of cutting through the 'key- 
log' that held all the rest. This once divided, the ob- 
struction would be removed, and the whole incipient 
jam, log by log, would tumble over the ledge and find 
ample room in the broader stream below. The diffi- 
culty extended only part way across the stream, com- 
mencing on the hither shore, and the object of the 
men was to guide the rapidly arriving logs past the 
outer edge 01 the jam and send them over tfae ledge 
through tne narrow passage that was still open. Won- 
derful activity and daring courage were every instant 
exhibited. Sometimes a man would make a prodigious 
leap and alight upon a log that threatened to lodge; 
this would set it rolling in the water. With the skill 
of a rope dancer and the quickness of a practiced 
acrobat, this man would maintain his footing on the 
rolling log, guide it along the outer edge Of the jam, 
and when it approached the pitch would spring from 
it to the one nearest and from that to the next, until 
he regained the shore. While these and various other 
daring, difficult and dangerous feats were being per- 
formed on all sides, one man was' constantly wielding 
the ax, and the obstructing log was cut nearly half 
way through. This was on the innermost verge of the 
pitch, the log was nearly submerged, and as the only 
footing was on the log itself, the duty was not only 
difficult but full of danger, for the immense and grow- 
ing pressure behind might at any moment breafc the 
log and precipitate the chopper, as well as the whole 
jam, into the boiling torrent below, where almost cer- 
tain death awaited him. But, cool and self-possessed, 
as if they were cutting a back log for a Christmas 
fire, these men took their turns at the terrible task 
until the situation became extremely critical. But a 
few more strokes were needed when the foreman of the 
drive, Frank Waite, a slight, lithe young man with a 
mild, blue eye, looked first at the log, then at the mass 
behind it, as if calculating its weight and the^ momen- 
tum it would have when in motion; then seizing the 
ax himself he gave several vigorous strokes, and just 
as the log began to bend to the pressure, he leaped to 
the next above it, and made his way to shore over the 
moving mass, just as the whole body went tumbling 
over the ledge. All this took place in less time than 
I have spent in relating it, and it formed no small part 
of our morning's diversion." * * * 
Had I possessed the genius of Kipling all this could 
have been conveyed to the experienced woodsman by 
the five words which the poet has so happily com- 
bined to make a picture in which neither Brown nor 
Ashcroft can recognize a salient feature, but with which 
both Hardy, of Brewer, and Ames, of Boston, Mass., 
are delighted, because their experience recognizes its 
truth to nature. Mr. Ashcroft says: "Kipling speaks 
of a log-jam as raw, using the word as synonymous 
with unfinished, and tells us that "a log-jam is an ag- 
gregate of tree-trunk sections," which, to the average 
reader, who knows nothing about saw-logs, conveys 
the idea that these sections may be made lengthwise, 
and then he treats us to a long paragraph about the 
beauty and finish of a tree-trunk, and quotes the follow- 
ing gush from Ruskin to show us that he saw it all 
in a jam of saw-logs, which are sections of tree- 
trunks! "Nature has taken wonderful pains with the 
forms of trees, sculpturing them into exquisite variety 
of dint and dimple; rounding or hollowing them into 
contours which, for fineness, no human hand can fol- 
low; then she colors them, and their whole substance 
is full of hidden histories concealing wonders of struc- 
ture, which, in all probability, are mysteries to the 
angels"; and all this to show us that Kipling in his 
blindness and ignorance of nature calls a log-jam raw 
— not in the sense of "unfinished," as Mr. Ashcroft 
ignorantly supposes — but in the sense of a raw spot 
or wound in an otherwise beautiful scene. And, then, 
emulating Ruskin, he gives us the following gush about 
the logs in this jam: "Texture of bark, anatomy of 
muscle beneath, reflected lights in recessed hollows, 
stains of mosses and lichens and wonderful delicacy of 
hues," which poor Kiplmg could not see! Mr. Hardy 
tells us, and truly, too, that nothing of this kind can be 
seen in a log-jam, and Mr. Ames adds his testimony 
that no "wonderful study of hues — browns, umbers, 
faint pinks and purples, dull reds and yellows, silver 
of lichens and green and crimson of mosses — is to be 
found in a raw log-jam." In looking back over my 
own long experience by wood and stream, I conclude 
1 must have been blind, for nothing approaching all 
this have I ever seen, either in a new or an old log- 
jam. Mr. Ashcroft concludes this paragraph of his 
unique criticism thus: "By similar reasoning the 
rough board sawn from that log, which is raw, should 
be called finished. As well call a steak cut from a 
quarter of beef finished." In the name of all the Gods 
at once — white, black and red — what has all the above 
"folderol" to do with logs in a jam? Kipling does not 
apply the word raw to a log. The raw thing in the 
landscape, as Kipling applied it, is the jam! Not 
"sensing" this, Mr. Ashcroft spreads himself thus: "If 
a log in the natural state is raw, so is a rainbow or 
a cloud, a wild flower or a star." And this is criti- 
cism as she is understood by these two sportsmen. 
Mr. Ashcroft gives us a detailed itinerary of his 
friend's sporting experience, which extends from Van- 
couver Island to Nova Scotia, including the salmon 
and trout streams of Newfoundland, and then argues 
that "he should know just a trifle more than Kipling 
about log-jams and canoe-poles." Well, perhaps! But 
as Mr. Hardy justly observes, "the odd circumstance 
is that Kipling is right and Mr, Brown wrong on every 
point." This is corroborated by Mr. Ames, as it will 
be by every man familiar with woodcraft. 
The "bar of sun-warmed shingle," which is a con- 
spicuous feature on all our northern rivers, and the 
"click of shod canoe-poles" must recall pleasant mem- 
ories to every sportsman who has lunched and smoked 
his brier-root on these bars, and in the pleasant breeze, 
which generally blows over them, has sought surcease 
from the black flies and sand flies or midges, which 
were the only drawbacks to the intense enjoyment of 
his surroundings. Had these critics ever been on one 
of Kipling's racing streams they would have seen that 
no "dirt, mud or alluvium" could form a bar on them. 
A stream that moves boulders of ten or fifteen tons 
hundreds of yards after a freshet, would make quick 
work of any bar formed of dirt, mud or alluvium, 
which, they tell us, is the only material of which bars 
are ever formed. The only bars they will find in our 
rivers are formed of shingle — water-worn stones — with 
coarse gravel and sand in the interstices, and even these 
seldom withstand the spring floods. 
Yes, Mr. Ashcroft, Kipling's Indians used and still 
use "shod canoe-poles" when they could get the iron 
thimbles with which to shoe them, and every Indian 
worth his salt can do that. Your friend of forty years' 
experience could never have been on our waters. He 
could easily make that trip down the St. John's River, 
the Tabusintac and the Margaree without seeing an 
Indian or a birch canoe, but if he made "three sum- 
mer outings in a canoe on Maine streams" of any vol- 
ume, he must have had Indians and guides too poor 
to buy shoes for their poles, and so lie did not hear 
the click. My own experience of sixty years on our 
rivers (twenty-two of which were on duty as a fishery 
officer), enables me to say that an unshod canoe-pole 
is the exception to the rule. In all that experience with 
the best canoe men, both white and red, that New 
Brunswick has produced, I never saw an ash or a maple 
canoe-pole; nor have I ever seen one made large in 
the middle and tapering toward each end. Nor did I 
ever see or hear of such a copper sleeve as Mr. Ash- 
croft's quotation from his friend describes. There 
never was such a thing seen in New Brunswick out of 
a museum, and I never heard of it being even there. 
As for the "click," Messrs. Brown and Ashcroft could 
never have read Charles Hallock's "Fishing Tourist," 
published as long ago as 1873, or they would know 
better than to write such dogmatic nonsense as their 
criticisms exhibit. At page 141, in his chapter on New 
Brunswick, this veteran woodsman and fine writer says; 
"It is marvelous with what untiring energy and perti- 
nacious effort the Indians mount the long and weari- 
some rapids. Never pausing, seldom speaking, push- 
ing steadily with synchronus stroke, the rhythmical 
click of their iron-shod poles upon the stony bottom 
seems to mark the time." 
No doubt we ought to be thankful to these sponsors 
of sport and purists in poetry for telling us that 
"traces" are not wanted on racing streams; but Kipling 
knew that his smoky Indian could take him to wonder- 
ful lakes on all our rivers, where Mr. Brown's bete noir, 
the so-called "sea-trout" — are to be had of 6 to 8 
pounds' weight; but the over-fed rascals will take 
neither fly nor worm at times, but may often be caught 
with a gyrating spoon or a spinning minnow. So, 
even in this small matter, Kipling has shown himself 
the best informed sportsman, and convicted his critics 
of ignorance. 
"A silent, smoky Indian!" Here, in three words 
Kipling has painted a picture which any sportsman 
who has ever had a real Indian guide, will recognize 
with a thrill of delight, as I did when I first read it. 
Even now my old blood warms at the memories it 
conjures up. Certain I am that no other words in the 
language can recall so correct an idea of the Indian 
to one who has ever known him. Writing to me some 
time since, Mr. Hallock said: "Kipling is the only 
writer who has touched on the smoky Indian in their 
wood epics. Time and again I have spoken and writ- 
ten of the smoky Indian when relating my experiences. 
I can smell an Indian as far as I can Limburger cheese; 
and so can a mule or cayuse on the plains. Many times 
have they warned us of Indians by pointing ears in the 
direction of their approach. In addition to the tepee 
being always snioky, the women are generally tanning 
skins in the smoke of the wickiups, so that they al- 
ways live in an atmosphere of smoke when at home." 
The rnost unfortunate break both Brown and Ash- 
croft have made in their ambitious attempts— the first 
to criticise Kipling, the second to show how much 
more proficient he is in woodlore than Mr. Hardy- 
is shown in their sneers at the "Couch of new-pulled 
hemlock." De gustibus non est disputandum is an old and 
wise saw, and as long as these critics speak for them- 
selves no woodsman or sportsman will object. But 
when they tell us that campers do not sleep on a 
couch of hemlock boughs when they can get spruce, 
they simply show how hmited has been their experi- 
ence. Mr. Hardy tells the exact truth when he says: 
"No one but a greenhorn ever uses spruce boughs 
when he can get anything better, and every other 
evergreen is better." Fir is softer and smoother; 
cedar comes next, then hemlock, then pine, and when 
these are not easily got the old hand must put up with 
spruce. For myself I prefer a foundation of hemlock 
boughs topped off with cedar, and whoever will try 
this couch will have no other while he is in the woods. 
Mr. Ashcroft calls all this "balderdash," and informs 
us that "the real sportsman sleeps under his canoe, 
in a tent, cabin, shack or lean-to." Well, I have slept 
in all these and also "with my back to the sod and my 
face to the stars"; if the night was fine I preferred 
this, as Kipling appears to do, for which I like him, 
for he also loves "to get near to the great heart of 
nature." 
Let me say that you cannot better please "true 
sportsmen than to print again the three quatrains, and 
let me ask if any of your numerous readers can refer 
me to any other twelve lines of verse or prose in the 
whole range of English or American literature that 
paint so many, so true and so vivid pictures, and make 
the woodsman and the sportsman hear the Red Gods 
calling them to their haunts with such persuasive tones 
that nothing btit sheer inability to leave their duties 
prevents them from yielding to the voices of the 
Charmers. Listen to them: 
"Who hath smelt wo6d^smo1<e at twilight? Who hath heard the 
birch-log burning? 
Who is quick to hear the voices of the night? 
Let him follow with the others, for the young nien%-'feet -ate 
turning 
To the camps of known desire and pi-oved delight. 
"Do you know the blackened timber? Do you know that racing 
stream. 
With the raw, right-angled log-jam at the end, 
And the bar of sun-warmed shingle^ where a man may bask and 
dream. 
To the click of shod canoe-poles round the bend? 
It is there that we are going with our rods and reels and traces, 
To a silent, smoky Indian that we know — 
To a couch of new-pulled hemlock, with the starlight on our faces, 
For the Red Gods call us out, and we must go." 
In concluding for the present I tender hearty thanks 
to Manly Hardy, of Brewer, and C. H. Ames, of Bos- 
ton, Mass., for coming to the rescue of genuine wood- 
craft, and for defending the accuracy of those word- 
painted pictures which raise in all sportsmen who 
know and love their cult, that longon to gon a fisshinge, 
which tells him the Red Gods are calling on their 
votaries. The Old Angler. 
SussE.^, N. B., Oct. 19. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
My sense of humor leads me to humbly thank yoti and 
the good sportsmen who have locked horns over Kipling's 
"Red Gods" lines. I especially enjoyed Mr. Ashcroft's 
assertion that a log-jam is "an aggregation of tree-trunk 
sections," and Dixmont's retort that a log-house is a log- 
jam ! 
May not this thought be the key-log to the jam in your 
columns ? If a log-house whose lo.gs were hewn should 
be stranded in a "racing stream," it certainly would 
make a log-jam that was "raw" and "right-angled." 
May not Kipling have seen such a house, and meant that 
in his lines? F- J- Hoyle. 
Pelham Manor, N. Y., Oct 52. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
This Kipling controversy has been very interesting to- 
me as illustrative of how men's minds and powers of - ob- 
servation vary. For a man who knows so little compara- 
tively about the subject, it does seem a little like "butting, 
in" for me to add my say before the blue pencil of the 
editor gets in its work and scores the incident as closed.. 
I can testify to there being bars of shingle up in Maine,, 
and other places as well, and I have lain upon them and; 
basked in the warm September sun and have enjoyed it. 
I have seen log-jams — some that have been unjammed 
by dynamite — and of all the "raw," broken, splintered,, 
pounded and maimed things is a jam made up of logs 
that have fought every inch of their way over rapids and 
amid rocks and boulders, only to become entangled into 
one inextricable mass at a gorge or bend in the stream. 
I think the pounded and frayed end of a log almost wholly 
stripped of its bark is a pretty "raw" looking proposition 
compared with the freshly hewn log, covered with bark 
and green with emerald moss. So far the "shingle bar" 
and "raw" logs appeal to me as correct. As to the angu- 
larity of the log-jam I can only say that as a geometric 
proposition in angles the log-jam "takes the cake." We 
get all kinds in such a melee of logs — rectangular, obtuse, 
and principally acute. So, as an angular proposition, the 
log-jam is a success to my way of thinking. 
The iron-shod canoe-poles are all right, too. River 
men working in and around logs on a deep stream some- 
times use other means of traveling than on the floating 
logs themselves — to wit, boats or bateaux. The iron- 
shod pike-pole, fourteen to sixteen feet long and about 
il4 inches in diameter, is the maiirstay of the river man. 
That in manipulating a boat, he should use his pike-pole 
in preference to the oars or a paddle I can readily under- 
stand. That it, when used, would make a "click" or ring- 
ing noise when coming in contact with the stony bottom 
seems but natural to me. As to spruce or hemlock' 
boughs for one's bed, there may be a distinction and a 
difference, but I have been so tired after my tramps in the 
woods and days on the streams that when I have lain the 
down to rest I have had no spirit of contention or dis- 
