172 FOREST A ND STREAM. [Aug. 27, im 
better. For a tent fly in wet weather I hung the old sprit 
sail from the clothes line, between the tent poles _ inside, 
and fastened the bottom edge to the tent pins behind the 
bed, and with rubber blanket at head of the bed to keep 
out the wind and rain, we always had a dry and comfort- 
able bed. Of course a good wide outside fly would be 
better in all kinds of weather. 
An old gun and some fishing tackle were always taken 
along, and a companion or two, if I could find one hav- 
ing a vacation when I had mine. Almost every year some 
of my friends would tell me they wanted to go the next 
time I went, but very few were ready to go when I sent 
an invitation, although I gave them all plenty of time 
to get ready. However, I seldom went alone, for some 
young fellow home from school or out of work would be 
ready to go at short notice. Sometimes there were three 
of us and a few times four. I usually made the trip just 
before the August full moon, and never struck any very 
bad weather, though a few times I escaped it by a day or 
two, and once I had to go a day later than I intended 
on account of a heavy rainstorm. At that season the 
flies and mosquitoes are less troublesome than they are 
in July. I was seldom gone more than eight days. I 
would plan to leave Haverhill about daylight at high 
water, and go down with the tide to Newburyport har- 
bor. When we had to row all the way to Newburyport, 
it was worth while to have the tide with us. Generally 
we rowed four or five miles, down past Groveland and 
under the iron bridge, before getting a breeze, but three 
times out of four we would get a light breeze to take us 
the rest of the way. The scenery from the river is said 
nearly to equal that of the Hudson for beauty, and 
always had a charm for us. Below Groveland the hills 
of West Newbury on one hand and Haverhill on the 
other, and the old "Rocks" bridge with its rushing cur- 
rent were in evidence, and below that were the villages 
of Merrimackport, Pleasant Valley, and Salisbury Point. 
Just below the point we go under the old chain bridge, 
a suspension bridge probably a hundred years old. 1 hen 
the suburbs of Newburyport and the city itself on the 
" Two bridges at the city cause us to lower the sail and 
take down the mast if we have sailed down. If it has 
been a row, we almost always found a breeze in .New- 
buryport harbor, and would set the sail below the bridges. 
Three miles from the bridges to the lighthouse on Plum 
Island, and there we turn southward into Plum island 
River If we have made a quick trip, it will not be low 
water yet, and we can dig a few clams and have a dinner 
of steamed clams while we wait for the tide. _ 
When the tide has run for two hours it is time to be 
moving, and a sail of nearly two miles over flats and 
through the creek between salt meadows takes us to 
Plum°Island bridge, where the sail and mast must come 
down again, unless by good fortune a yacht is going 
through, and the draw is open. About a mile beyond the 
bridg? we meet the tide from Ipswich River, and unless 
we have a good breeze or want to work our passage we 
mi^ht as well tie up to the bank and go gunning, if there 
are°any birds or go in swimming and wait with patience 
while the tide turns. As a matter of fact I have saned 
down so many times against tide that I have almost for- 
gotten the few times we waited. The river through here 
is narrow and crooked, so that most any old wind will be 
fair part of the way. Three miles from the bridge Parker 
River runs in, and below that the river is a mile wide 
when the flats are covered. • 
From Parker River down is a pretty sail with marshes 
on either hand and Grape Island and the Ipswich lulls 
ahead With a good breeze we would reach the Blurts 
about high water, and once with a norwester I reached 
the Essex creeks at high water. It was just _a bit choppy 
in spots that day, with the wind blowing against the tide ; 
but with a reef tied in and the forward deck under water 
at times, I kept going, and was in Essex soon after high 
water. Usually we camped at Grape Is and or the Bluffs 
over night, and went over to Essex in the morning, start- 
ing so we could go up Ipswich River and through Fox 
Creek on the tide and get under the low bridge mto 
Essex creeks before high water and to Essex before the 
tide was running out much. ... 
The trip could be made in good weather over Ipswich 
bar, across the bay to Essex River, and up that river to 
Essex but it was further and somewhat uncertain for a 
small boat. I remember one morning getting to "Ipswich 
River with a light southwest wind. I was^ tempted to 
try the outside passage for variety but, being alone 1 
kept on up the river and through the creeks as usual. 
I had not gone far in Fox Creek before the wind 
had changed to northwest, and was soon blowing so • 
fresh that I found it more comfortable to row than to 
sail under a double reef. This part of the trip was 
alwavs interesting. Up Ipswich River less than a mile, 
wklfbeacn on on g e hand a\d "Little Neck" hih with it, 
summer cottages on the other, into Fox Creek throngh 
marshes a short distance and past Sagamore Hill, with 
more cottages, then through between the hills under a 
low bridge into Essex creeks, and down back of Ipswich 
beach into Essex River. . . ... „ 
Fssex is divided by the small river into two villages, 
anH is auite a lively place when shipbuilding is good. 
Many a fin" fishing 7 schooner has been launched then. 
Leaving the boat and putting boxes, blankets etc., in a 
shed on the bank, we could take a tram-and m later 
years an electric car-to W.enham some five miles, to 
my sister's house. Returning usually the next day we 
made the trip to the Bluffs with a favorable tide part of 
the way, and proceeded to establish the camp. 
Before the days of bicycles and trolley cars, the Bluff 
wa 1 aVorhe camping place, sometimes fifty tents being 
mtched there at one time. Now very few camps are 
lowed there It is a little peninsula, scarce a hundred 
yards wide o„ the west side of Plum Island projecting 
So the river There is a steamboat wharf, with steamer 
twice a day"' a small hotel, and a half dozen cottages 
belonging to the hotel and to the owners of the lower end 
° f The visitors by steamer mostly go up to the hotel or 
over on the beach, so it is quiet enough in camp, and 
Sot quite out of the world. One can get to the ocean by 
? walk down the river beach to Ipswich bar, and down 
thTbar to the ocean beach, or through the pasture and 
field back of the hotel, across a foot bridge over the creek 
and marsh by a shorter cut. The clams on the flats, on 
e the? side, are very fine; lobsters are caught in nets just 
off the point ; plenty of eels run up the creek with the 
tide, fish are caught from the wharf or from boats, and 
bay birds used to be plenty enough to afford some shoot- 
ing on the flats and marshes. Plenty of driftwood can 
be picked up on the beach, and the water from the well 
back of the hotel is good. Altogether it was a fine camp- 
ing place, and there is plenty of room for camps now 
back of the hotel or on the beach near-by. 
Getting settled in camp, we managed to find a variety 
of things to do during the short stay. We could always 
pick up enough small driftwood on the river bank to 
cook the first breakfast and after that a boat^ load or 
two from the beach kept us in fire-wood. The clam 
flats yielded a dinner or two; a few trips after sea perch 
supplied other dinners, and the gun generally got us at 
least one dinner. If we wanted eels, we could catch a 
mess bv bobbing for them from the boat tied to the wharf 
or up the creek in the night. Some neighboring campers 
used to put a reflector light on the bow of their boat 
and drift up a creek with the tide, spearing them from 
the boat. 
There were sailing trips to Ipswich, Parker River, 
Eagle Hill, Rowley River or just anywhere on the river 
or outside in pleasant weather. 
We always— almost always— had good neighbors; the 
only exception being some' Sunday school' boys who came 
down for a day and put in part of it breaking up a char- 
coal furnace which we carried in the early days. . 
First and last we made many pleasant acquaintances 
there. In 1879 we camped near two brothers named 
Currier from Boston, both veterans in the Civil War, 
and veteran campers, for they had camped there then for 
thirty-one years, except while in the army. They ^on- 
tinned to come while they both lived, and the survivor 
was there at the hotel last year. A man named Bruce 
from Lowell camped over on the beach "where he could 
see the waves roll in," for thirty years, till he went to 
camp on the other shore. Some of the boarders at the 
hotel 1 came to be old acquaintances, and the same cot- 
tagers were there for several recent years. 
Once in my boat and headed down river, I left Haver- 
hill and all its business behind and gave myself up to the 
vacation and the different life it brought with it. 
When I was ready to break camp, I always had a good 
coat of tan, sometimes too good. My muscles were 
hardened up, my appetite improved, and I felt like a new 
man, and the good I got helped me through the year. 
Undoubtedly I owe my present good health to those an- 
nual outings, and the remembrance of them is always a 
delight. 
Two years ago my better half decided that she really 
liked the beach, the reason for this change of heart being 
the fact that electrics left the next corner every half 
hour direct to the beach. So last summer she also de- 
cided that a small beach house would be the proper thing. 
When a woman decides, it is no use to argue the case, 
and beach house it was. When we went down the river 
last summer, instead of turning south into Plum Island 
River, we kept on out to sea, and sailed north to Hamp- 
ton River, where we found the wife housekeeping in the 
small house on the beach. The boat is kept under the 
house when not in use, and the only change is from tent 
to cabin. We hope to enjoy many more vacations at the 
sea side under the new conditions. 
The fact that the new location is the one I was familiar 
with in my boyhood days does not in the least detract 
from the enjoyment of it. One of the Joneses. 
Some Animals I Have Studied. 
IV —Malty, The Trick Dog. 
The little slate-colored terrier mentioned in .''Some 
Knowing Dogs" was a very remarkable creature, indeed, 
with many contradictory characteristics— gentle _ and 
affectionate, fierce and resentful; brave and imperious, 
timid and nervous; always ready for any danger or hard- 
ship yet delicate and dainty. She could simulate the 
most terrible anger "just for fun." If a man swore or 
uttered vile words, or was guilty of ungentlemanly con- 
duct in her presence, especially indoors, she would in- 
stantly "call him down," showing (apparently) intense 
indignation, and continuing to growl and bark at him 
until he apologized or left the room. She had learned 
to recognize the objectionable words and conduct chiefly 
by observing what offended her master. I say her 
master, because few fellows were rude or forgetful 
enough to be offensive in the presence of her other 
dearest friends— my invalid uncle and his daughter Kate. 
I obtained her before she was weaned of "Grandma 
Sisson, in Illinois (and I thus publicly mention her name 
because I believe any of her family— as some of them 
probably read Forest and Stream— will be interested m 
the notable career of the pup whose mother they owned) . 
That was about seventeen years ago. I taught the puppy 
to hunt squirrels along the Little Wabash when she was 
much less than a year old, then left her with my uncle 
and cousin while I went to "spy out the Promised Land 
in the mountains of Arkansas. In a short time my rela- 
tives came down and brought the dog safely with them. 
I'll never forget our meeting. I found her, alone, m the 
parlor of a modest hotel in Hot Springs, uncle and cousin 
having gone down to dinner. She looked as sad and 
lonely as a girl waiting for her lover never to come 
again; there were actually tears m her blue-black eyes; 
and they must have been tears of grief, for, as I after- 
wards learned, she had refused to cat. But she recog- 
nized me at sound of my voice, and with a cry of joy 
leaped up into my arms. Then she ate all right enough 
at first offer. . , . 
AVhen we had settled down m the woods, living at first 
in a very small box house with but one room and a 
porch (Malty and I slept on the porch winter and sum- 
mer) the tiny dog rapidly acquired character and fame. 
In the house, when she desired to be noticed, especially 
at meals she would rattle the bootjack, as we called the 
act a trick she taught herself, which consisted in putting 
one paw on the notched or upper end and tilting it rapid- 
ly so as to cause the other end to knock several times on 
the floor. The trick needed to be seen to be appreciated ; 
for instead of looking at the bootjack, she always glanced- 
coquettishly sidewise at her audience ; that is, after first 
touch. She generally found the correct position at cnc^. 
If we pretended not to see, she would knock faster and 
harder. On one occasion, her efforts to arrest our atten- 
tion seeming in vain, she turned the bootjack around, 
then gave it a sudden jerk down on her other forepaw, 
whereat she bounded back with a little exclamation (I 
can't say yelp, for it didn't sound a bit doggish; 'twas 
almost exactly like the sound a pretty, silly girl utters 
when surprised by a mouse or spider). But when we 
laughed at her, she immediately pounced upon it again 
and rattled it furiously. 
Another and very astonishing trick she took up by ac- 
cident. Her name for it was "jump down;" that is, if 
she heard anybody say that, even in a mild whisper, she 
at once went through the performance, and would repeat 
it every time the words were uttered until exhausted and 
dizzy. It was a sort of war-dance — a spinning round 
and round while chewing at her tail and barking and 
growling as if fighting another dog. I've seen other 
dogs — and even cats, calves and pigs — whirling playfully, 
but never saw any living animal spin so rapidly, so con- 
tinuously and so furiously. After whirling at the 
astounding rate of twice per second for a minute or a 
minute and a half, she would slow up (or down), and 
stagger pitifully, sometimes falling, or determinedly 
bracing herself like a drunken man; then, if she saw a 
single wondering look or heard a laugh, she would in- 
stnatly reverse, or as the children say, "unwind,'' by 
spinning more furiously than before in the opposite direc- 
tion. So long as any person in the crowd of onlookers 
was cruel or thoughtless enough to repeat the exciting 
command, she would continue, until worked to a frenzy, 
unless I snatched her up and soothed her by some crafty 
compliment. If any other man took her up _ she would 
try to keep on whirling in his arms, or, if hindered en- 
tirely, to cast herself to the floor again. Often she. con- 
tinued until it seemed she would go mad, with thumping 
sides and eyes green as arsenic; yet in ten seconds I 
could have her calm and smiling and wagging her tail. 
Once she began to "jump down" on the edge of a porch 
about four feet high, and kept whirling nearer and nearer 
the edge, when, in the most emphatic portion of the 
dance — the forzando, so to speak — she went overboard. 
But the dance went on, forward and backward, so unin- 
terruptedly that we could not see if she lighted on her 
feet or on her back ! A cur pup, twice her size, wonder- 
ing if she was shaking up a rat or fighting a raccoon, 
ran to her and bumped against her, trying to seize her 
and pull her away ; but even that only delayed the dance 
five seconds, for she caught and whipped him, and then 
whirled on again. 
Although she never became a mother, she was very 
motherly all the days of her life (she lived about seven 
years), could not be induced to kill young mice, baby 
rabbits, nor to tease very small kittens. Often she adopted 
young of one sort or another, and strove earnestly to rear 
them. She would lie down just like a mother dog, and 
with her forepaws draw them up against her dry teats, 
whining to them coaxingly, and evincing great anxiety 
and grief if they failed to understand her benevolent in- 
tentions. Young rabbits would seem to take to her 
kindly enough until their little noses actually found the 
teats, when they would recoil screaming with terror, 
causing her to show every possible sign of disappoint- 
ment and grief. She would excitedly rake them together 
again, and again push them up to her breast. After 
three or four distressing failures, she would carry them, 
one by one, to some other nest, there to make another 
trial. After three or four days they would die, and her 
grief, if possible, increased. If she saw us bury them 
she would dig them up and return them' to their nest, or 
to her nest, rather, and continue fretting until convinced 
that death had. claimed them. It must not be supposed 
that she remained constantly with any ' litter as long as 
life lasted; she was always ready to leave them, day or 
night, for an hour or two, to hunt, or attend to her usual 
duties ; but returned to them as eagerly as a real mother 
imnelled, as cold scientists aver, by the pressure of her 
milk, and not by the higher maternal affection. Adopting 
rabbits was a trick of her own initiation, _ so far as I 
know. But Kate gave her an unweaned kitten to care 
for, and encouraged her in the scheme on two occasions 
I happen to recollect. The first was not a success; the 
second soon overcame its inborn repugnance to the 
doggy odor, and the at first useless tugging at a milkless 
teat, and actually lived two or three months. Strange 
to say, that teat it exercised enlarged, and really gave 
milk at last, as Kate proved to me one day by squeezing 
it. But I am convinced that Kate's own attentions, in the 
form of dainty soft foods, often and delicately supplied, 
had more to do with keeping the foundling alive, espe- 
cially at the beginning, than Malty's milk. 
Malty was a greater all-round hunter than any hound 
I ever knew; good for all sorts of game found here ex- 
cepting deer,* which she regarded as domestic animals. 
Though she would chase one out of the field— just as she 
would eject a horse or cow — she never seemed to con- 
sider the possibility of continuing the pursuit. But she 
knew all about hunting and "fighting" rabbits, squirrels, 
raccoons, opossums, minks, rats, mice, skunks, water- 
snakes, moles, turkeys, etc. 
During her periods of grief (though I do not assert 
that was the cause), Malty often absolutely refused to 
eat anything for several days; and once, at least, she 
fasted more than a week, if we were not deceived, and 
I think we were not, for she remained in the house then 
almost the whole time, apparently sick with a sort of 
ague. We did not doctor her, for she showed an intense 
desired to be left alone. 
She was passionately fond of boating, as well as swim- 
ming and wading, and would balance on the gunwale of a 
thin-sided skiff, standing as boldly _ upright as a rope- 
dancer, especially when nearing an island. Of course I 
loved that little dog. So did Mrs. Kemp and all who 
intimately knew her. After I have finished describing 
my list of queer animals, I desire to relate some of her 
adventures Next week I want to tell of "Coallie the 
Snake Dog." L. R. Morphew. 
Hot Springs, Ark. 
*Mrs John' Kemp, a neighbor, had a pet deer, which often 
visited us with her mistress, and frequently came without her. 
