Sew. i?, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
288 
the evening the victors celebrated. We mingled with the 
men, old and young, who surrounded a huge bonfire. We 
had just reached our hotel, when our attention was at- 
tracted by a cry of distress coming from some distance 
down the street. Arriving upon the scene, we discovered 
a farmer had overturned his wagon into a deep ditch, 
and he was underneath the debris. A man with a voice 
that penetrated the still atmosphere of the night like the 
bellowing of an angry bull, and who was frequently called 
Mort, appeared to be superintending the work of extri- 
cating the imprisoned person. Aided by the dim light of 
a lantern, he worked rapidly and with vigor, talking in- 
cessantly as he proceeded. 
"Here !" he shouted, "Get hold of this wheel. You 
fellows take that wheel there. When I give the word, all 
lift together." 
A delicate looking individual — Doctor, the men called 
him — was nervously moving in and out among those who 
had gathered at intervals, stating what, in his opinion, 
should be done.- Mort suddenly turned on him. 
"Shut up, you darn fool !" he shouted. "What do you 
know about getting a man out from under a wagon? 
You may be able to saw his leg off, or give him some 
dough pills, but you are in the way here." 
The Doctor subsided. 
In a few minutes the wagon was removed and the 
man lifted from the ditch. A sack of flour which, he. was 
taking home had burst, and he was covered with it. 
When it was ascertained that he was unhurt and drunk, 
Mort's exasperation knew no bounds. 
"You drunken loafer !" he shouted, "I got out of bed 
when I heard you call for help, and I have worked here 
nearly half an hour to rescue you. You might have lain 
in the ditch until doom's day, had I known you were 
drunk !" 
In his utter disgust he shoved the staggering man into 
the ditch, picked up his lantern, and started homeward, 
still muttering in his anger. 
From the brow of a slight elevation we obtained our 
first view of Charleston. The highway ran down a 
gradual incline to the water's edge. Little islets 
studded the lake. Some were clothed with a luxuriant 
growth of evergreen, ash, and willow; others' contained 
dark gray granite rocks, with intermittent patches of 
moss clinging closely to the crevices, contrasting strangely 
with the rich green of the shrubbery, while here and there 
a huge boulder, scoured by innumerable storms, and 
bleached by- the rays of a scorching sun for centuries, 
barren of any vestige of verdure, glistened in the distance 
above the rippling water, white and solitary. We were in 
ecstasies over the picture presented. 
We had leased for two weeks an island cottage, and we 
quickly arranged for the use of a boat. We had provided 
an ample stock of miscellaneous provisions, and were 
well furnished with fishing tackle and bait. We had two 
Winchesters and an abundance of ammunition. We were 
at first inclined to grumble because of the meagre fur- 
nishings of our cottage. The rusted stove, rude chairs, 
rustic table, and sleeping bunks filled with boughs of 
evergreen, were uninviting, accustomed as we were to 
city comforts. Later we congratulated ourselves because 
we had no furniture to keep in order or utensils other 
than our scanty outfits to clean. 
Profitable from a healthful standpoint, and supremely 
enjoyable our outing proved to be. Our days from early 
dawn until eventide were fully occupied rowing, fishing, 
bathing, shooting, or in exploring some of nature's mar- 
velous and beautiful creations. When one became 
monotonous, we substituted another. We obtained many 
beautiful specimens of fish, catching them in the quiet of 
secluded bays and inlets with hook and line. When 
wearied of this pastime, trawls were brought forth and 
put into use. Bass and pike weighing from two to six 
pounds were secured. Some we ate ; the surplus we gave 
to picnic parties and to farmers living upon the lake 
shore. We wasted much ammunition endeavoring to 
shoot a loon, finally being successful. We also shot a 
magnificent blue crane, which measured, with wings ex- 
tended, over four feet from tip to tip. Both birds were 
expressed to New York to be mounted. 
Upon a clear day we ascended Blue Mountain, which 
rises heavenward a thousand feet or more. Its sides are 
interspersed with crags and deep ravines, and covered in 
many places with a thick growth of shrubs and trees. 
Fallen timber which strewed the ground made our ascent 
more difficult. It was the blueberry season, and the bushes 
were heavily laden with that fruit. Upon our return we 
quickly filled the dishes which we had. The heat was 
oppressive, but the landscape view which we obtained 
from the summit amply repaid us for our exertions. 
Nestling at our feet the lake appeared a miniature 
pond, the islands little patches of gray or green upon its 
surface of deep blue. Twenty-five miles away to the 
east, with the aid of a glass, we could see the church 
spires of Brockville gleaming in the sun, and about the 
same distance southward those' of Gananoque. We fol- 
lowed the sinuous course of the lake's outlet through the 
hills and valleys as it wound its way like a thread of 
silver toward the majestic St. Lawrence. Many villages 
and farm dwellings came within the range of our vision. 
They appeared like little block buildings such as children 
amuse themselves with. The beauty of the scene will 
never be obliterated from our memory. 
Near the end of the second week, our supply of con- 
densed milk became exhausted. Edison suggested we buy 
from a farmer, whose home was on the shore near-by. 
We had not shaved since we left New York, and we were 
an uncouth, sunburned looking group when we appeared 
in the farm-yard. The farmer was milking, and did not 
discontinue his work when we approached. He looked, 
us over carefully, I observed, and, I imagined, with some 
suspicion. 
"We are not tramps," I said to him, "although in ap- 
pearance we may be more disreputable than the average 
hobo. We are camping on the lake yonder. We have 
no milk. Will you sell us some?" 
As he peered at us from underneath his shaggy eye- 
brows, I detected the glimmer of a twinkle. "I have ten 
cows to milk," he said. "If you'll each milk one, I'll be 
gummed if I'll not give yer some milk." 
Milking cows was new to us. It seemed simple. We 
believed we were competent to do the work suggested, 
and accepted his proposition. 
"Which one shall I milk?" I asked, as with pail and 
stool in hand I stood before him. 
"Try that one over there," he said, pointing to a spotted 
cow lazily chewing her cud in a corner of the yard. Her 
left side was toward me. I placed the stool on the 
ground and sat down, putting the pail between my feet. 
She stepped about a yard away from me. "Whoa there !" 
I exclaimed. 
"You're not driving a hoss," the farmer called to me. 
"Never say Whoa' to a cow. Say 'So, Boss.' " 
I shifted my stool and again got ready to begin opera- 
tions. I reached out my hand. Bang! I saw a hoof 
shoot out and backward. My pail, badly indented, rested 
against the fence about ten feet away. I was upon my 
back sprawling upon the ground. The cow was running 
wildly around the yard. 
"You tarnation fool !" the old man shouted, "don't yer 
know better than to try to milk a cow from the left 
side?" 
_ I acknowledged my ignorance. Why it is necessary to 
sit down on the right side, I do not know ; I can vouch, 
however, that it is very essential. It was long before my 
comrades ceased laughing over my discomfiture. In the 
midst of the excitement — amusement it was for the old 
man and my chums, and while I was brushing the dust 
from my faded clothes — a roar of laughter came from 
the house. I turned and got a glimpse of pink and frizzes 
wiping dishes at the kitchen window. This increased my 
mortification. . 
My second effort had a more successful termination, 
but my wrists ached, and my fingers were so cramped and 
knotted that several minutes elapsed before I succeeded in 
straightening them out. 
The next day I suggested we offer to exchange some 
fish we had caught that morning with the fanner for a 
chicken. "Roast chicken," I said, "will prove a pleasing 
substitute for fresh fish." 
"Did you ketch them fish?" the farmer asked, when we 
had explained to him the exchange we wished to make. 
"Where do you think we got them?" the Judge 
inquired. 
"Dunno. I didn't think the suckers round here were 
tame enough to let you fellers ketch them." 
We joined in a laugh at the, farmer's good-natured 
raillery. 
"See here," he said, "you dawggawned city chaps are 
spilin' for somethin' to do. You help me to git in thet field 
of grain this afternoon and I'll give you yer supper and 
a chicken ter boot." 
Rowing and bathing had hardened our muscles, and we 
grappled with the work vigorously. During the afternoon 
we overheard the old man tell his daughter, "If these 
tarnation city chaps can eat the way they work, you'll 
need lots of grub or they'll clean the table for you." 
The last- sheaf was in the barn when the supper horn 
was blown. We were tired and ravenously hungry when 
we sat down at the farmer's table. The supper was a 
marvel. 
"I have eaten at Sherry's and Delmonico's and other 
high priced restaurants," the Judge said, in afterwards 
discussing the meal, "but I have never, since I left my 
mother's home, eaten such palatable victuals as were 
placed before us this evening. That cream pie was a 
wonder. I shall never forget it." 
"Take these fellers into the parlor, Carrie," the farmer 
said, when we could eat no more, "and give them some 
music, I am going to milk." 
"Don't you want them to help you?" the young woman 
innocentjy i n quired 
"Greeley is anxious to get better acquainted with that 
spotted cow which tired to shake hands with him last 
night," Uncle Russell remarked. 
"I have no desire to renew my acquaintance with her," 
I asserted, as they all joined in a hearty laugh at the 
memory of my experience. 
Our hostess proved no mean pianist, and we whiled 
away a pleasant hour singing and enjoying the musical 
entertainment which she provided. 
We were loath to break camp and return to city life 
and the stern realities of business. 
When in a barber shop in Athens, I noticed Edison 
lingering around a photographer's cabinet of pictures on 
exhibition near the door, but I attached no importance 
to his absence when he disappeared for a few minutes. 
Last week, when in his room, I saw his watch lying on 
a table. Inside the cover was a photo. It was the 
farmer's daughter. 
I have already arranged for a week's vacation at 
Christmas. It is my intention to see Charleston Lake in 
winter. Whether I shall merely call at the old farm- 
house or extend that formality into a visit of two or three 
days' duration, will ; depend entirely upon the reception 
the old man — or, to be more specific, his daughter- — shall 
give me. Of course my contemplated trip is a profound 
secret, not even Edison or . my other comrades having 
been apprised of it. Greene Bush. 
New York, August, 1904. 
The Necessity of Forest Reserves. 
Editor Forest and Stream-: 
The article by E. P. Jaques, entitled, "Rebuild the 
Earth," in your issue of September 10, deals with a ques- 
tion too long delayed in this country. We cannot agree 
with the writer that his theory for storage of water for 
irrigation purposes would be practical, but do most 
heartily agree with him regarding our present destructive 
methods of handling our lands. 
We should not lose sight of the fact that Palestine of 
Biblical days was a "land of flowers and honey." To- 
day it is a desert, made so by man in his thoughtlessness 
and ignorance in the manner he handled the forests and 
agriculture lands. 
The downfall of Spain dates from the time that agri- 
culture was interfered with by drouths and floods. Ger- 
many, France, and all the older European countries have 
discovered that the methods pursued in the past cannot be 
continued without ruination to the whole country. 
Our natural resources have been so immense that we 
have failed even to consider the future. Agriculture de- 
pends upon water supply — a water supply which can be 
counted upon in advance. As we have cleared our lands, 
our streams have diminished in size in summer and be- 
come torrents in winter. We are to-day producing 
deserts on a small scale, but they are surely growing. 
Our forests have acted as our reservoirs ; as we destroy 
these our water supply becomes more interfered with. It 
is w<ell to attempt to reclaim the arid West, but while 
doing this, we should also consider the East, and con- 
serve our water supply by regulating the cutting of wood 
lar.d. Better do this to-day than to be compelled to irri- 
gate or reforest in another generation to come. 
No, I cannot agree with the writer of the article re- 
ferred to in his theory of dam building throughout the 
country. Such dams would necessarily occupy the val- 
leys, viz., the best agricultural lands; such dams would 
require constant watching and repairs ; they would al- 
ways be a menace to those living below ; it would be diffi- 
cult to secure control of such sites for dams. 
To my way of thinking, much more certain results 
could be secured by forestry. Stop the indiscriminate 
cutting of timber, reforest waste lands, especially the 
steep mountain lands; this method would use only the 
lands of least value. Such reservoirs would require no 
attention except to keep out fire ; they would not be a 
menace to inhabitants in the valleys, but would furnish 
perpetual recreation and outing places. 
As our forests disappear, we are beginning to realize 
their true value. Cities are after park lands ; States are 
after lands for economic reasons to-day which were prac- 
tically given away a generation ago. The National 
Government is taking up forestry and irrigation because 
our scientists to-day see that past methods pursued mean 
ruination for the future. 
We must protect our water supply. We can only do so 
by reserving small and large areas of forest lands. Every 
State should own such land and lend every possible 
assistance to the National Government in the establish- 
ment of forest reserves. C. P. Ambler. 
Minnesota Forest Reserve. 
St. Paul, Minn., Sept. 2. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
The townsite boomers are abroad again in the land. We 
read every few days of petitions being signed by the 
Indians to have the 231,000 acres of forestry land 
"opened up to settlement," and in a few weeks it will 
be in order for the townsite boomers to threaten us 
with another Indian war at Leech Lake, if the Indians 
are not speedily placated by the opening up of the 
aforesaid forest reserve "to settlement." 
It is evident that for years to come the advocates 
of forestry reserve in Minnesota will always have the 
townsite boomers with them. 
' u When a few years ago the reserving of the entire 
Chippewa Reservation as a forest reserve was advo- 
cated, the townsite boomers jumped into the political 
frog-pond and by loud and frequent peeping so in- 
fluenced our Minnesota delegation at Washington, that 
it mistook the noise of a half dozen industrious frogs 
for the plaints of the entire northern part of the State. 
And they heeded them, and the outcome of the matter 
was the Morris bill, which forever and a day settled the 
forestry question as far as the Chippewa Reservation is 
concerned. It was a compromise bill, and the townsite 
boomers were there present and solemnly pledged them- 
selves as satisfied with its provisions. 
The boomers got what they wanted — the reservation 
was "opened up to settlement" and they and the Win- 
chester farmers were happy. But do they remain con- 
tent, and are they inclined to keep the bargain they 
entered into? No. They cry for more. Stir up the 
Indians. Have them sign petitions. Open up the lands 
for settlement, be they sandy or swampy or covered 
with timber. The crying need of the boomers is more 
land, so disregard the treaty entered into in connection 
with the Morris bill and "open up" the lands. The 
townsite boomer is not easily pleased. His wants are 
far-reaching. 
_ They have some reservoirs at the head of the Missis- 
sippi and these are secured by dams, and certain flowage 
lands are necessary in connection with this reserve of 
water. 
The purpose of these dams is to hold water in reserve 
that it may be gradually fed into the Mississippi and 
insure navigation at St. Paul. It is said that the water 
reserve now in hand would insure navigation at St. 
Paul for one hundred days during the dry season. 
Think of it! The townsite boomers, the same old crowd 
that fought every move made by the advocates of the 
Minnesota Forest Reserve, have the impudence and 
audacity to demand that the dams be discontinued and 
that the flowage lands be "opened up for settlement." 
How close and dear to the heart of the boomers are 
the poor settlers standing in line, Winchesters in hand, 
waiting for the boomers to find them a place to rest 
their weary heads. 
The boomers fooled the Minnesota delegation a part 
of the time, but repetition is not likely. The idea of 
reforestation has come to stay in the State of Min- 
nesota. The forest reserve flag is flying over the 
Chippewa Reservation and it will "stay put," the 
boomers to the contrary notwithstanding. 
I question, in the face of public opinion, how far 
our delegation at Washington would care to go in this 
matter of again placating the boomers. 
Of course, Judge Morris is now out of it all, but yet, 
no doubt, sees what is going on and recognizes the 
gloved hand of the boomers, his former constituents, 
in the Indian petition and other press items. If the 
Judge would express himself (being on the bench it 
may not be right that he should do so), I certainly 
would like, for one, to hear what he personally thinks 
of the present actions of his friends, the boomers. 
But one thing is certain, with such a wise and far- 
seeing man and such an advocate of forestry as Presi- 
dent Roosevejt in the Presidential chair, the boomers 
will have to stir up a first-class Bear Island Indian up- 
rising to attract his attention in this matter of opening 
up more lands "to settlement" on the Chippewa Reser- 
vation- Char les Cristadoro. 
A Simple Mosquito Bat. 
I was fishing in a section where the mosquitoes were 
almost unbearable, and where mosquito nets at night are 
unknown. By accident I found a piece of wire-nettino- 
about 8 by 10 inches. This I sewed lengthwise on a 
flour sack near the bottom, and cut out that part of the 
sack covered by the wire-netting, and the affair was ready 
to be put over the head. Breathing is easy, and the stiff 
netting keeps the screen in suitable position during sleep 
and the wearer is immune from "skeeters." M. 
