Dec. 31^ igat) 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
847 
traced their steps to Fort Gibson, where the commis- 
sioners remained, while Latrobe and Pourtales re- 
turned to the Osage agency. 
A little later, in November, Latrobe notes the in- 
teresting packing of the prairie fowl. Indian summer 
had set in. The squirrels were at work among the 
dead leaves at the foot of the hickory and pecan trees; 
and the "countless bands of water-fowl and flights of 
pigeons, which had been constantly observed passing 
to the southward during the prevalence of the cold wind, 
ceased to attract the attention. 
"'I/he prairie-fowls had now completely thrown aside 
their summer habits. Instead of keeping apart in dis- 
tinct families scattered over a vast extent of country, 
like our grouse at an earlier season, they now appeared 
congregated in immense flocks in the immediate vicinity 
of the tarms. 1 had plenty of opportunity of studying 
their habits, but to shoot a few brace, as they were ex- 
tremely wild, required frequently hours of patient and 
wary exertion; whereas, at an earlier season, a sports- 
man, if aided, by a dog, might bag any quantity, from 
the pertinacity with which they will lie close till forced 
to fly." 
"it appeared that at this time of the year all the 
birds within an area of three or four miles square, 
congregated together by. consent at sundown on a 
given spot in the rank dry grass of the unburnt prairie, 
to sleep. Many a time have I seen them coming at 
sunset from every point of the compass, with their 
remarkably level and even flight over the swells of the 
prairie, toward the place of rendezvous, which a few 
days' observation enabled me to determine upon within 
a quarter of a mile, and twice 1 was on the prairie 
early enough to hear and see them rise, and the sight 
was such as might make an English sportsman's mouth 
water. The number must have amounted to many 
thousands, and the sound of their wings might be heard 
a very great distance. After rising, tor about half an 
ihour, they crowd the scattered trees on the edge of the 
prairie by hundreds at a time, after which they dis- 
perse. Their wariness at this time is extreme; and the 
slightest indication of the approach of man, even at a 
great distance, is noticed by the cock, who, perched on 
Hie topmost twig, elongates his neck, and peeps first 
on one side, and then on another, with the most pro- 
voking caution. How often have I been foiled, when, 
after the most cautious approach, either in serpent- 
fashion, like the Indian, dragging myself through the 
giass inch by inch, or in an upright position, striving 
to counterfeit a tree stump; never stirring till the sen- 
tinel looked another way, and then by imperceptible ap- 
proaches, and five more feet and five more minutes 
would have brought the tree within range— the careful 
bird began to- grow more and more doubtful and rest- 
less, and nnally set up that clear tremulous crow, which 
sa.d: ^There's a rogue with a gun almost within shot!' 
as plainly as thougn he had spoken English. The in- 
stant and complete dispersion of the whole covey to a 
great distance would be the immediate consequence." 
Alter much pleasant loitering about Fort Gibson, 
waiting in vain for a steamboat, which should enable 
them to tollow Mr. Irving, who had already gone, the 
travelers determined to go down the river by canoe. 
This was purchased, and two discharged soldiers were 
hired, to make the trip with them. 
The journey was not long, and with paddles and 
poles they glided down the river. Sometimes they 
camped upon the bank, sometimes stopped at the farm 
of some half-breed or Frenchman, passing through a 
region which Latrobe compares to the "back parts" of 
Kentucky some fitty years ago, and "the Mexican 
province of Texas," at the time when he wrote. He 
tells of the curious mixture of population seen along 
,the stream; of the gradually more numerous settlements 
.through which they passed, until they reached Little 
iRock. 
Here ended, for the time, their travels in the far 
'.West,. for at Little Rock they took a steamer bound for 
:N.ew Orleans, leaving it again, however, at Point Mont- 
gomery, to await one going up the river,. This came 
; along a little later, and two weeks after this they 
jlanded at Wheeling, Va., and continued their way over 
it he Alleghanies to Baltimore by land. 
George Bird Grinneix, 
Floating Down the Mississippi. 
A Journey Through the Swamps. 
The interior of Robertson's model-hull boat was all 
a-tangle. There were two single beds, a cook stove 
and a table that loomed up amid piles of tents, boards, 
bed springs, poles and fire wood. Under the table 
where he ate was a pile of food remnants six inches 
high, kept there in order that the cat might always 
have food handy. Robertson swept frequently, always 
.toward this pile; and when the pile became too high, 
ihe carefully poked out the bones and eatables in order 
ito shovel up the dust, or mud, depending on the 
weather. Judging from what was on and under the 
.table, the old man had fresh meat, cake, biscuit and 
light bread at frequent intervals. He also had jellies 
and apples and jams, besides, condensed milk for his 
coffee — "plenty to eat for sartin." 
Night came down out of the clouds in layers, closing 
in like the sides of the room in Poe's tale, the rain 
sheeting along the roof and the wind swishing. We sat 
by the stove, Robertson discoursing on his horse: 
"Proudest, gaudiest horse you ever saw, stranger. 
Holds his head up gay. Just as fat as butter, round 
and slick, too. Of course he don't look very well now, 
in this rain; but when he gets dried off and you look 
at him from the left side, he's as pretty as a picture — 
yessir, as handsome as a drawing " 
' "Why the left side?" I asked. 
"Well— urn — you see he ain't got but one eye. 
"I s'pose it's because I come of a good family that 
they takes to me so round here. But 'tain't that alone. 
.1 asked Mr. Horton one day how come it was he took 
to me so, me hot being much account since my legs 
got crippled up. 'Well,' says he, 'I'll tell you. It's 
cause you're 'bout the oldest citizen we has round here, 
and we plumb like your ways.' One time there was two 
men come down here from St. Louis with the finest 
guns you ever saw, yessir, and they had me with them 
for quite a time; and I never did know their namss 
rightly, but one called hisself the Unknown, and t'other 
was Knowing Jack. Rich, they must of been, and they 
did like me for sartin— seemed plumb interested in me. 
They was hunting, too. ; ' 
"I s'pose you've hearn of Barney Mitchell, am t you? 
Well, I cooked for him once for nine months, when he 
was scouting. I seen him kill a man at Neeley's Ferry. 
He wasn't a desperader, but was just evading the 
officers of the laws, so's they wouldn't hang him. He 
just hated the name of killing anybody, and used to 
cry when anybody spoke of his shooting anybody. I 
seen him cry lots of times when I'd talk to him kind 
and Christian-like. The only time he ever cussed me, 
was at Neeley's Ferry. Barney— his real name was 
Martin— was shooting at Thomas Ball, who was in a 
skiff, and Charley Brison was shooting at Mitchell, and 
I was into the way of Mitchell, who was about seventy 
yards away and couldn't shoot Brison without hitting 
me, and he cussed me for that; and Brison cussed me 
for not telling where Mitchell was at, and Ball, he just 
riz up and fell out of his skiff, and Mitchell, he " 
Bang! Thunder and lightning came ripping through 
the gray, clouds that had been hanging over the boat all 
day. There was a swish of the wind, and a chill blast 
swept through the boat, while limbs from the big 
deadened trees on the bank clattered down on the tarred 
roof of the boat loud and startling, after the hours of 
wearying rain patter. 
In the morning it was clear and middling cold, but 
such a day as makes river traveling delightful. I pulled 
out and headed along the Crawley's Ridge on my way 
toward Madison. It was Sunday, quiet, pleasant and as 
many miles before me as I could make — nine miles to 
Madison, so I was told. But miles in the Bottoms are 
of the more-or-less type, and mostly more. 
It was about noon when I came to the town, with its 
church-bell silence — big sawmills without steam^ smoke 
or sound, a couple or three cabin boats, a big dark 
railroad drawbridge, rolling banks of dark red saw- 
dust, caving into the water, and a trim little Government 
boat, laid up by low water, and a fish dock with a 
tawny-colored man — skin, hair, clothes — was in hailing 
distance of me. 
By and by I came to a forest which closed around 
me, the river not showing its course far ahead at any 
time. I said howdy to some men on .the bank in a 
couple hours or. so, and then rowed on for hours and 
miles and stopped at a lumber camp — tents. A familiar 
face greeted me: "Why yes, you saw me over here a 
mile and a quarter. Yes, you come eight or ten miles 
round getting here. Won't you spend the night with 
me? Be glad to have you — like enough you never 
was in a log camp." 
The invitation was from the camp boss, Crippen, and 
to any one passing through the Mississippi Bottoms, a 
look at the lumber camps is a matter of prime im- 
portance. The lumbering in the Mississippi Bottoms 
is being carried on in a fashion that means much to 
the future of that region. The forests, which formerly 
stood in the way of the settler because of the difficulty 
of getting rid of the gigantic trunks, now are a profit 
and encouragemet to the man who wishes to make a 
home in the Bottoms. Casen, the yellow-man, of whom 
Robertson told, and countless others are dependent 
on the sawmills at Helena, Memphis, above New 
Orleans, etc., for their start in life. 
The foreman of the camp was not a large raan— fair, 
reddish mustache, agile. Only a malarial headache had 
him, and that takes the tucker out of the best, for the 
time at least. He was different from the typical boss 
of a woods crew. Undoubtedly he was "a bad man 
when you git him going," but the fact was not written 
on his features, save in a kind of set of his jaw that 
drew a deep line clear across his chin. The type of 
the lumber-camp boss is medium height, broad- 
shouldered, heavy-featured with a jaw that reaches from 
ear to ear, a big wrinkled forehead with the fact that 
he's the- best man thereabouts, showing in his tone 
of voice and his movements- — a trifle of the bully in him, 
that is to say. Doubtless Crippen knew his job as well, 
if not better, than the typical boss, but he did not grow 
impatient when asked to explain things "anybody ought 
to know." The new hand under the type gets his 
knowledge hammered into him, while under Crippen 
matters are patiently explained. It's a question among 
handlers of negroes, whether, in lumber, or log, or 
levee camps, the explaining or the thumping process 
brings about the best results. If Crippen carries a 
gun, I didn't learn of it; but Marshall, a boss I met 
down in Mississippi, jerked a Forty-five out of his 
pocket at the question, "Do your hands ever bother 
you?" It was sufficient answer. 
"This yere is plumb amusement for you, ain't it?" 
a darky said to me, as I looked around the camp of 
which Crippen was foreman. There were half a dozen 
tents, staked amid tall green cane, with big trees stand- 
ing thickly in a forest, where the vines grow up over 
the low brushes in hummocks like haycocks, and al- 
most as, dense. One walked along the road, as if be- 
tween two Walls in those places where the vines were 
thickest. High overhead were the treetops — little tufts 
of gnarly, brittle branches, seemingly small in pro- 
portion to the magnificent columns that supported them. 
The work in the camps begins in September and 
ends by the first of May, usually. From late April to 
early September "worms" eat up the logs on the 
dumps and render them useless for lumber in so short 
a time that summer operations are impossible. 
Crippen was cutting gum mostly; but the woods con- 
tained elm, ash, oak and cottonwoods, to be cut later. 
One man had eight or ten thousand feet of persimmon 
logs — one big one, thirty-four inches in diameter — 
• which he was selling in Memphis to become golf sticks. 
But Crippen's job was getting out "export lumber." 
"Export" is the highest grade, and it is sent in barges 
to the seaport, thence transferred to an ocean-goer's 
hold, for a sea trip to Liverpool, to be used there in 
veneering, and other fancy work. 
The contract called for 800,000 timber feet, and 200,- 
000 more if both parties desired, at $5 a thousand — a 
dollar more than usual — but it was selected timber in 
time of booming market, and the scaler for the buyer 
could throw out any logs he saw fit— "goose-egg it. 
In the Adirondacks it is alleged ten inches is the 
minimum size for spruce pulp logs, butt measure at that 
Here twenty-four inches was the least, and measured 
at the top of the butt piece. "A perfect gum" log 
measures from the center, fifteen inches "heart" and 
three and one-half inches sap — thirty-seven inches in all 
—at the small end, and from twelve to fourteen feet 
long. It is called a gum tree, Crippen thought, because 
when the tree is "belted," "girdled" or "deadened" a 
sap oozes out, which is hard enough to chew in six or 
eight months. "It tastes like— well, you know how 
cherry tastes? Well, this is just like that, only it has 
the gum flavor, instead of the cherry." 
Swamp loggers hunt up sections of land to cut over 3 
camps are located, tents put up, crews and mules 
brought in and work goes on with much the same regu- 
larity of an Adirondack camp, but, of course, the heavy 
timber, the level lands and the nature of the region 
makes every operation different in some, or all par- 
ticulars. The large trees are more apt to have "wind 
shakes" or splits, and rot, than the sjaia.ll ones in the 
northern and healthier wilderness. 
Half a hundred trees are first felled, then logged off 
and toted to the dump, where they are made into rafts 
or hoisted on barges. The negroes use a teetering 
stroke, much different from the straight drive of most 
white sawyers, and when they put in the 3^2-pound 
ozark stave wedges to keep the saw from binding, the 
darky hits a hard drive, then a little tap, with his 
10-pound sledge, getting much satisfaction out of the 
little useless stroke. As they saw, the negroes wail, 
sometimes without words, again: "Oh-h-h — w-o-e — oh- 
h-o-oh!" 
"Sweet Georgia Lee-e-e 
Shot a light on me-e-e, 
But the Katie won't land-d-d 
A-around Flower Lake, 
Not until next pa-ay d-a-a-y— 
Oh-h-h — w-o-o-e-e — oh-h-h 1" 
Singing that sounds for all the world as if the men 
at it were suffering from a soul rr stomach ache — only 
there is music in it, a kind of rhythm, which jibes with 
the whizz of wind through the treetops, or the wash 
01 the river current along the caving bank. 
I timed two crews; one sent the saw back and forth 
across the middle of the log-^-32-inch gum — at the rate 
of eighty double strokes in 110 seconds, while the 
other sawyers cut thirty strokes in thirty seconds — 
about 35-inch strokes — seventy inches of fist thrust and 
recover a second; but it was the rocking stroke, which 
is probably best for such large logs, and not the level 
drive of the eastern woodsmen which cuts with every 
tooth inside the bark. Thirty-five logs is a crew's day's 
work, as against 150 to 200 a day in the softer and 
smaller timber in the northeast. 
These logs were to be taken out on barges when the 
water comes up in the spring, so it was unnecessary 
that they should float. Only one of twelve gums will float, 
runing about thirteen pounds to the lumber foot, board 
measure, as a rule. The average log contains 700 feet, 
hence a weight of 9,100 pounds, and the transportation 
of such logs from the stump to the river bank involves 
methods not found in hillside spruce timber with several 
feet of snow, sprinkled and icy, and sleds to travel on. 
Where there is no underbrush it is delightful walking 
under the trees of the Bottoms — soft, still and moist, 
but with a little too much moisure. One's heel goes 
down hrough the brittle leaves and comes up mud-laden. 
The transportation of 5,000 tons of logs over half a 
mile or so of level, gummy soil requires different sets 
of ideas from the steep sidehills of Pennsylvania, where 
hemlock grows, or the hummocks of an Adirondack 
spruce chopping. There is no question of setting 
the brakes — no rolling the logs half way, or clear 
down a mountain, no slides or whoop hurrah of logs 
jumping end over end as they whirl down sidehills. The 
wagon bolsters are four feet above the ground, and 
there are four tons in a chunk to load — a dead lift. 
They say in the camps, that they serve one meal a 
day and two at night. We were up, through with our 
hominy and pork and hot bread before dawn, and then 
warmed by the heat of a fire which one of the men 
built in the boss's tent for him, When a haze of day- 
light appeared, Crippen went through the tent-flap, 
calling, "All out!" It was a command, not the "Let's 
turn out" of an Adirondack boss. 
The crew appeared. There were four sawyers, to log 
off, and their marker — the one who measures logs, files 
saws, cleans away the brush so the sawyers can get at 
the logs, and ieads the way particularly. The yellow 
cook looked out, the boss looked oyer the gang, speak- 
ing to the white swamper — road maker — in regard to 
the work to be done. Then five mules appeared, each 
harnessed, but each free to take his own gait to the 
wagon — that was the "team," two wheelers and three 
leaders. The driver was a very black, hanging-Hp 
negro, who bossed the mules around into place,~ except 
one. This mule went on the run around back of the 
wagon and eight or ten rods into the cane. 
"Come back heah, Juke!" the driver yelled. "Back 
hay-hay! Who-hoo, hoo high! I'll just kill yo' this 
mohnin!" 
Juke wiggled all over, turned around and trotted 
back, stopping on the way to kick both hind hoofs far 
out in the cane, then ran into his proper place on the 
off-wheel side and looked around at the driver, tilting 
his nose up till it was nearly horizontal, the long ears 
coming together, at the tips and sawing back and forth, 
a cheerful, well-fed mule. 
To go over the soft soil, the wagon had a wide tread 
—five inches — and the wheels were "boxed in." Two- 
inch boards were bolted on the sides of the wheels, so 
that the tread was increased to nine inches. The boxing 
was worn On the edge from the tire, till it was rounded. 
When the weight came down on the dirt, it did not cut 
in like a shear blade, but bent the matting of dead leaves, 
vines and surface rootlets. Where the sharp tire wauld 
have cut through the dry surface soil to the muck a 
few inches beneath, this bending would save much hard 
hauling— would keep the road good even in damp 
weather. 
The five mules, with the driver in a saddle on the 
