Jan. ^i, 1^4.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
68 
have suffered neglect without a murmur. You have in- 
curred unreasonable, unjust criticism withotit even recall- 
ing, except by your mute presence, the unkindness of the 
moments that have sped away. You have lived to see 
jiistification done you, and by no sign have you shown 
that you gloried in it or rejoiced, over your final suc- 
cess. You have, indeed, been a true friend, and now I 
unreservedly yield to you that meed of praise which 
everyone who does his duty shall finally receive. And 
that it may not be myself alone who shall testify to your 
true worth, and before I reveal your personal identity 1 
shall describe to those who care to read the details of 
some of the accidents and incidents through which we 
have passed together, knowing full well that you will 
never reveal them. Thus I shall leave it to you, reader, 
to pass judgment upon Alexander Sampson's worth. 
II. — The Gilligan Guards, 
The green birch wood in the little camp stove crackled 
and hissed. The dim oil light on the rough table sputtered 
to itself. The smoke drawn vigorously from three pipes 
rose in successive strata to the canvas roof. Outside the 
wind blew gently from the east while the first snow of the 
approaching winter fell damp and soft till a spectral 
gloom pervaded the great woods. On the edge of one 
of the bunks across the north end of the camp sat the 
"Colonel," his beard and hair as white as the snow out- 
side, and his strongly marked, though kindly face, set off 
by a black skull cap. He was the first to break the 
Quaker-like silence by saying: "Boys, we will get our 
first deer to-morrow." "If we don't we better get out of 
the woods," remarks the "Old Trapper," in his usual sen- 
tentious manner. And so, the first gun having been fired, 
the whole party take up the conversation and discuss the 
plans and outlook for the morrow's hunt. 
When the Sirens passed away to other realms and 
Orpheus, having subdued all with the magic of his music, 
bade good-by to earth, each left with us not only the 
storied treasure of the history of their lives, but the sweet- 
ness of their voices, and their wondrous skill was be- 
queathed to the spirits of the air and they were bade to 
plav these tuneful lays on the yEolian harps of the great 
pine trees. And so when nature thinks laggard man 
should renew his neglected homage to her charms she 
bids these spirits play, and calls him to her as she wills. 
And ever}' true lover of her arts, especially he who in 
hunter's guise is one of her most ardent devotees, hears 
the call and answers without delay. 
So perhaps on this account it comes about that every 
fall the Gray Rock camp in Wisconsin's northern woods, 
in the weeks of October and November, is peopled with 
men of kindred minds. 
Close to the base of an immense rock, that in height 
and circumference would rival some of the castles of the 
barons of old, stands the camp. The other side of the 
rock runs the Pembine Creek, tearing along over its rocky 
bed on its never ending journey to the Menominee River. 
Rocky ridges are in sight in all directions, and from 
them stretch broad areas studded with arrowy Norway 
pines under which the brown pine needles form a car- 
peting rich and soft. Not far distant flows the Menomi- 
nee River, the source of which is located far north to- 
Avard the southern shores of Lake Superior. As the 
waters of this stream flow along they rapidly increase in 
volume, and for many miles before reaching Green Bay, 
into which they finally empty, the river becomes a 
majestic stretch, a part of some of the Badger State's 
finest scenery. In some places the river pours throiigh' 
rocky chasms and dashes over precipitous heights, form- 
ing cascades and magnificent falls, while in the back- 
ground are high bluffs and miniature' mountains, the 
summits of which are crowned with regal pines. At 
other times it flows with silent majesty along reaches 
where its banks are fringed with graceful cedars which 
cast their dark shadows upon the mirror-like surface of 
the water, and make a scene of wonderful impressive- 
ness by reason of its silent grandeur. So, too, at times, 
as some lone voyager passes down these stretches" standing 
erect in his canoe it creates in one quite an idea of the 
Silent Land. 
Ne^r-by also are six or more beautiful lakes looked 
down upon by hills and surrounded by dense forests, the 
trees of which never lose the color of youth. Old pine 
choppings, tamerack, and cedar swamps, ridges of hard- 
wood, plains covered with a stunted growth of jack pines, 
high ledges of rocks and a large number of small streams 
are the other features of the country, and though the 
through trains on the "Soo" road, only a few miles dis- 
tant, go hurtling by on their way to and from Boston 
and Minneapolis, and though the hand of man has dis- 
figured the country by stopping the flow of the grand river 
with an immense dam used for logging purposes, yet ,the 
wild game is still there, and in the deep recesses of the 
forests the timid deer and wary bear and wolf are to be 
found, and in the thickets the small game abounds. It is 
here that our party of hunters built their camp and en- 
joyed for years, with a keenness born of love of nature, 
their annual vacations. 
The party has been composed of true sportsmen, one 
of whom, S. B., was born and spent his childhood on his 
father's farm, now a part of Central Park, New York 
city, and who enjoyed his other sports among the high- 
lands of the Hudson. As he grew to manhood he be- 
came imbued with the pioneer spirit of a true hunter 
and left the city for the western wilds to become 
identified with the history of a new country. The Colonel 
was born on one of the islands in Lake Champlain and 
spent his early days among the green hills of Vermont 
and the fastnesses of the Adirondacks. From his home 
could be seen the Green Mountains with their high peaks 
rising to the skies, while toward the setting sun lay the 
beautiful lake its bosom dotted with emerald isles. The 
"Buckeye," such by birth but a Badger by adoption ; Mack, 
Bill, the "Old Trapper," all veterans of the late war, 
Louis and Henry, who claim Germany as their birthplace 
but America their home and the United States their 
nation, these, with the Young Badger and the dog Sport, 
completed the party. 
Every fall for more than thirty years some of these 
veterans of rod and gun have had an attack of the 
"fever," which has always culminated in chests being 
packed, tents rolled up, guns resighted and put in trim, a 
gathering at the depot at early morn, a ten hours' spin 
oyer the rails to the little lumbering town, a trip of from 
eight to ten miles by team, a hunters' camp away from 
everyone in all its glory, several weeks of rare sport and 
pleasure. Every fall this has been the programme, and, 
though some have come and some have gone even be- 
yond the confines of this life, yet in the main the party has 
been kept together and the experiences of the members 
while in camp form the basis of these sketches. In relat- 
ing them also an epoch, fast pasing away, in the history 
of the State, is in some measure described, for though 
poorly told they give a few of the details in the history of 
the passing of the pine tree, and tell of hunting and pio- 
neer life in northern Wisconsin, which, as it has in some 
of the Eastern States, is there fast merging into the life 
of the farmer and the resident of the city, and will before 
long have disappeared entirely. 
The wind outside continues to blow soft and low and 
the blanket of snow becomes thicker and thicker, but the 
scene inside does not change. The sides and ends of the 
camp are boarded up with what was formerly the roof of 
an old lumber camp, and then chinked with moss and 
banked from the outside with sand. A snug fitting door 
at one corner is hung on hinges made from the soles of 
an old pair of rubbers. A heavy canvas roof is stretched 
over a strong ridge pole and fastened to the edges of 
the top boards, which are about five feet from the 
ground. Across the north end of the camp is built a tier 
of bunks, each one large enough for two men. In one of 
the south corners on the ground sits a small sheet iron 
stove, with an oven attached to the pipe, and behind it is 
piled a goodly supply of split wood. On one side of it are 
some shelves for the pots and pans, and on the other a 
roughly made washstand. On one side of the camp stands 
a table with legs like a sawbuck and a top as rough and 
black as a sidewalk. Piled on it are the supper dishes 
neatly washed, and over it from a small shelf shines a 
small lamp, while beside it sits a little clock, ticking as 
vigorously and homelike as one could wish. A large 
chest on the other side, a trunk or two, and two long 
benches complete the furniture, while on the sides, in 
brackets, hangs a formidable array of guns. 
The Colonel still sits on the edge of the bunk. The 
Old Trapper stoops over and lights his pipe. Mack hugs 
one knee and watches closely, while the Young Badger 
takes down his Winchester and begins to clean it. "Boys, 
we'll get our first deer to-morrow," seys the Colonel 
again. "This snow makes me think of the time in '76 
when John, S. B. and I camped at Echo Lake. It seems 
almost like yesterday. We got over to the farm and it 
snowed so hard we stayed there over night. In the morn- 
ing we started to make camp, and on our way to the lake 
saw any number of tracks crossing the road. John kept 
saying some venison would taste good for dinner. By aiid 
by I got tired hearing him say this, and finally told him 
and S. B. if they would take a stand a little ways ahead 
near some large Norways I would take a short circle and 
try and drive a deer to them. So they slipped on ahead. 
I hadn't much more than half finished my circle when 
bang cabung went S. B.'s old 'shower gun,' and pretty 
soon bang again. The sound of these shots excited me 
some, and I hurried through the woods pretty livelj'. 
When I got to the boys I found S. B. had killed two 
beautiful deer, a doe and fawn. So we had venison for 
dinner. Now I feel it in my bones that we will have veni- 
son for dinner to-morrow. There is one thing," continued 
the Colonel, "that we experienced that same night which 
won't happen to us here to-night. We worked lively 
the balance of the day, and by night had our camp about 
completed, but were so tired that as soon as supper was 
out of the way we were all ready to go to bed. I don't 
think we had been asleep more than an hour when we 
were awakened by the most unearthly sounds I ever 
heard. It is an actual fact that my hair stood up straight. 
At least it felt as if it did. It seemed as if a thousand 
demons had let loose the most diabolical noises they were 
capable of producing, and as if the whole posse of them 
had launched themselves at our camp and were not over 
fifteen feet away. 'For heaven's sake, what's that !' shouted 
S. B., while the rest of us were too scared for a moment 
to say anything. It was not long, however, before we re- 
alized that a gang of wolves had scented us out and had 
come to investigate. They didn't stay long, nor did they 
stand upon the order of their going, for we soon heard 
them howling in the distance, and could tell by the sound 
that they were retreating rapidly. We had slipped out i-o 
get a shot, but they were too cunning for us. You can 
rest assured we did not sleep much more that night. We 
all thought that we would kill at least one of the gentle- 
men during our three weeks' hunt, but not one of us got 
even as much as a sight of a single wolf during our 
entire stay." 
The Old Trapper, when the Colonel stopped talking, 
scratched his head and said: "That makes me think of 
the time before the war when I worked in a lumber camp 
on the Little Cedar. There were no railroads up here in 
those days. We had to go by boat from Green Bay to 
the Menominee River, and then up through the woods tp 
camp. I can remember I made the trip on a little 
schooner called the Polly Jane, and it was so cold we 
almost got froze in. I'll be hanged if the first thing I 
saw when I came on deck in the morning wasn't a big 
buck swimming right plump across f^he bav, breaking the 
thm ice like a good fellow. We took after l:im but he had 
more speeil than a snovvf plow, and got to shore befo'-e we 
could reach him. When we got to where our company 
kept their supplies, they gave me an ox team hitched to a 
pair of bobs, loaded with supplies, and, among other 
things, a small keg of whisky. I hadn't been on the road 
more than half a day when the snow melted, and you can 
bet It was slow goii>g after that. Consequently, you set!, 
1 got caught in the woods over night. "Well, I unyoked 
the cattle, fixed them up the best I could, built a big fire, 
got some lunch, and then went asleep. Holy smoke' 
along in the night if I didn't wake up and think that a 
railroad train was running over me. The woods seemed 
tuU of wolves, and they howled and yelled around as if 
they were having a ghost dance. A young lad who was 
with me was so scared that he climbed a tree and wouldn'* 
come down until daylight. I'll be honest and tell you that 
I didnt sleep much between keeping the fire going the 
cattle quiet, and tapping that keg, T had about all I 
could do until morning. That's my only experience in the 
woods with wolves, and while I know they are usually 
cowardly devils, yet I would rather not meet a pack of 
them after dark." 
After that everyone had to tell all he knew about 
wolve-s, and it was found to be the general e.xperien>:e 
of all, that while they had heard many frightful stories,' 
yet they never knew, from their own experience in north- 
ern Wisconsin, of wolves attacking anyone or making: 
any decided demonstration toward such a thing. In the' 
meantime the fire burned low, and in a little while one by ^ 
one the party turned in to their bunks,' and soon the only ■ 
sound m the camp was the ticking of the clock and the 
snoring of the dog. Nor did anyone arouse' until about ' 
live o clock in the morning, when'the buzzing of ihe'alanu * 
turned out the entire party to breakfast, and for prepara- ' 
t:ons for the morning's hunt. Cakolus. 
Weather Prophets. 
Why does a duck look at the sun? That is a ques- ; 
tion I heard argued with great vehemence when [ 
was a boy. One side contended that the duck wanted ; 
to get the time of day or the sun's altitude, while the 
other side held that the duck was not lool<ing at the ' 
sun at all, but merely trying to relieve a crick in its 
neck. A quiet man who happened to come along ; 
while the dispute was at its height suggested that 
perhaps the duck was looking to see if there was any i 
sign of rain. The disputants, with a complacence rare 
among men; holding such opposite views, declared 
that this had never occurred to them before, and tiiat 
probably it was the right explanation of the matter. 
And probably it was and is. However, there are ; 
many things that birds and animals do which are not 
clearly understood, but have an undoubted significance. 
Especially is this so in regard to the weather. 
I recall reading a letter in Forest and Stream last 
fall, in which the writer predicted from his observa- 
tions of wild animals in the Adirondacks an unusu- 
ally severe winter. How fully the prediction has been 
verified we are all only too painfully aware. Undoubt- 
edly the gentleman referred to must be a keen ob- 
server, and it would be extremely interesting to have 
from him particulars of his late observations. ' 
The professional weather prophet is, 1 believe, 
given to smile disdainfully when told of the prophetic 
powder of animals in regard to the weather. Or he 
may even exclaim, "All rubbish, sir— all stuff and , 
nonsense! What in thunder can an animal out in the 
woods of Jersey, say, know of polar conditions, 
which alone make a hard or mild winter?" 
On first blush, this question seems to be logical 
enough. What, indeed, can an animal out in the 
woods of Jersey know of polar conditions, or even , 
conditions much nearer home? It has no observato- 
ries, no telegraph wire, Jio . scientific instruments — 
nothing, in short, with which the professional weather 
prophet is equipped. And yet, although the animal 
has none of these things,, it may still, possibly, be a 
very good judge of the weather. 
Balzac has said, "L'instinct chez les femmes equi- 
vaut a la perspicacite des grandes hommes" [The instinct 
of women equals the perspicacity of great men]. Per- 
haps it is true also that the instinct of animals 
equals_the perspicacity of the weather prophets. 
Instinct is a thing which is but very imperfectly 
understood, as has often been pointed out in the 
columns of Forest and Stream. That it is closely 
allied to intuition,: however, there seems to be little 
doubt. And therefore it is that instinct may leap to a 
right conclusion while reason — the much vaunted reason 
— gropes in the dark. 
.Creatures of ^instinct have their sensitive nerves or 
sensibility highly developed, and, it may be assumed, 
are alive, in a telepathic way, to subtle changes or 
indices which entirely escape the notice of reasoning 
intelligence. Now it is very probable that as early as 
September or October certain signs appear, foretell- 
ing the character of the coming winter. If we con- 
cede this, it will be easy to understand why animals 
act with providence or the reverse. 
And after all, would it not argue a serious defect in 
nature's scheme if animals were not endowed with 
some prescience in regard to the weather? One hard 
winter might play havoc among them unless some 
unusual preparation was made. As it is, many of 
them do succumb, but we may be pretty sure that 
these are paying the penalty of carelessness or neglect 
of warnings, just as many a man pays the penalty of 
such conduct. 
So the disdainful attitude of the professional 
weather prophet does not really seem justified. The 
modus operandi of this gentleman— i. e., stationing 
himself on the top of a high building in a city and 
observing the clouds, measuring temperatures, rain- 
falls and wind velocity, and connoting high pressures 
and low pressures of areas more or less remote — may 
be all right, and will, I sincerely hope, result in the 
evolution of an accurate science of the weather; but 
so far we must admit the predictions based on it have 
not markedly been in the habit of coming true. 
As to the amateur weather prophet — that is, the 
man who casts a sage eye toward the horizon, 
sniffs the ai^r and then will tell you infallibly when it 
will rain or clear up — -I would say to him, emphati- 
cally: "To the woods!" 
In connection with this type, I may relate a story 
which I recently heard, and which, I trust, will carry 
its own moral. 
In a village down East there lived a weather sharp, 
whom we shall call Obadiah Squalls. He had a son 
out West who had long been trying to induce the 
old man to join him. But Obadiah loved his native 
place and the reputation he had earned, such as it 
was. Finally, however, the son one day was able to 
announce to his friends in the village store that the 
old man had agreed to come West. "And I tell you, 
boys," said he, "he's the boss weather prophet!" 
"Kin he tell when it'll rain?" asked a man who had 
some corn in a bad way. 
"Sure," replied the son. "That's his strong point." : 
But there were many, skeptics, and wagers were 
laid on the old man's ability, it being agreed that on 
his arriyal the son should have no opportunity of 
private talk with him — this for a reason which shall 
appear. 
in due time the old man arrived and was met at 
