April 190S.J 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
wo kinds. This kind is a stout stick, one end of which 
jts set against a stump or rock, while the other end slants 
up to a notch in the log. The log is then raised slightly, 
rolled up against the "Sampson" by the jackscrew, and 
the barking completed. You now cut the "Sampson," 
which bends with the weight of the log, and the log starts 
down. One must be careful in cutting the "Sampson" 
':o get on the hollow side of its curve, or there may be 
some danger. This process of rolling also lifts the log 
to one side of the top chopped off and gives a free way. 
;If the log is not on steep ground, it is barked below by 
I simply rolling it with the screw; then you set a "Samp- 
son" of the other kind — that, is, a block of wood a foot 
ong and four inches through — on a skid on the side op- 
josite the jackscrew. The log is now raised by a rolling 
notion on tO' the short "Sampson" placed rather near the 
)utt, and the log will start, provided the point be raised 
;rom the ground on a skid. However, the "Sampson" 
)ught not to be placed too near the butt for this, which 
s called pushing a log, as it does not work well, because 
he log does not get far enough to jump forward. _ 
I The log now starts on its journey to water, a distance 
iometiraes of six or eight hundred yards, and usually it 
;lears the ground at high speed. If the start, however, is 
)ad, the point may stick in some knoll and have to be 
ackscrewed and skidded out, but with a good send-off, 
he log will plow through knolls, split big cedars from 
ground to top, if it hits them fair, glance from the 
runks of the stronger firs, and only be brought up by a 
)ig rock or occasionally by a large mass of down timber, 
n order to miss big obstacles of this kind, a long 
'Sampson" is sometimes set before starting the log in 
>ne side near the point and used as a fulcrum while the 
ackscrew is used to swing the butt till the trunk has the 
ight direction. 
When your log strikes deep water, it goes clear out of 
light; then it comes back on the same slant and shoots 
(wo-thirds of its length out of water. All you have to do 
hen is to clamp on to the log and tow it to your boom, 
vhere you saw off the "snipe" on the point square and 
ie the log up with the others. But if the water is shal- 
3W near the edge, and the log sticks with its point in the 
ottom and its butt on the bank, then you have to put a 
itop in the middle, cut a deep notch on the top of the log 
elow and near the prop, undercut the log just above the 
rop with a saw, and knock the prop out. The log then 
reaks in two of its own weight, and each end can be 
hoved into the water. 
Two good men hand logging can get out two sticks 
our feet through and a hundred feet long every day in 
cod ground if they work hard and all goes well. 
I must also explain the use of "fore and afters." These 
re two parallel skids laid close together, notched and 
,eld in place by a crosspiece below, barked and sometimes 
reased. They are used to slide up the point of a long 
og when a big windfall bars the way at the start. This 
; cheaper and quicker than cutting the windfall away. 
Well, two other men and I were hand logging in John- 
on's Straits, and we had brought with us two barrels 
if corn beef. Before we knew it the beef had spoiled, 
nd we had to throw it out on the beach. The exact 
lace where we were was on Vancouver Island, at Small- 
ox Bay, so named because some 300 Haida Indians had 
ied there of smallpox. We saw the piles of unburied 
Ikulls and bones of the Indians still lying about, and 
cnew that the place had earned its name. Wolves were 
ery plentiful around there, and came in crowds to eat 
he beef we had thrown away. 
( Outside the door of our cabin stood a five-gallon can 
»f dogfish oil tried out from dogfish livers, which we 
ised for greasing our jackscrews. 
One night after we had all gone to sleep, I woke up 
i.nd heard a noise of licking. The others woke up and 
tieard it, too. We talked in whispers about what it was. 
Ve all thought of wolves at once, for these animals like 
;rease, and the bears will even lick the grease off the 
kids. Lick, lick, lick went the noise, just as if a hungry 
ongue were lapping around our can of fish oil. My gun 
i;ng above my bed. I took it down without making any; 
,oise, and crept on tip-toe to the door. I got my gun 
ood and ready, threw open the door quickly, and peered 
h rough the darkness, with my finger on the trigger, but 
could not see a thing. 
Then I began to feel a little queer. It may be I was a 
rifle scared. But just then the noise began again, and 
saw it came from the water bucket. There was nothmg 
round the water bucket, either; but I had pulled myself 
ogether by that time, and stepped up to the bucket and 
3oked in, and there was a big toad in the water trying to 
et out, and scraping the sides of the bucket with his feet 
i every jump. R. V. Griffin. 
Okanacan, Washington. 
In one of my nests was an ant, which had come into the world 
■ithout antennse. Never having previously met with such a case, 
watched her with great interest, but she never appeared to leave 
le nest. At length, one day, I found her wanderings about m an 
imless sort of manner, apparently not knowing her way at all. 
>{ter a while she fell in with some ants of another species, who 
irectly attacked her. I at once set myself to separate them, but, 
hether owing to the wounds she had received from her enemies, 
r to my rough, though well meant handling, or both, she was 
vidently much wounded, and lay helplessly on the ground. After 
ame time another ant from the same nest came by. She ex- 
mined the poor sufferer carefully, then picked her up and car- 
.ied her away into the nest. It would have been difficult for any 
Ine who had witnessed the scene to have denied to this ant the 
"ossession of humane feelings. In face of such facts as these, it 
; impossible to regard ants as mere exquisite automatons. When 
■e see an ant-hill, tenanted by thousands of industrious inhabi- 
ints, excavating chambers, forming tunnels, making roads, guard- 
ig their home, gathering their domestic animals— each one fulfill- 
ag their home, gathering food, feeding the young, tending their 
tlomestic animals— each one fulfilling its duties industriously and 
I 'ithout confusion— it is difficult altogether to deny them the gift 
f reason; and the preceding observations tend to confirm the 
pinion that their mental powers differ from those of men not so 
luch in kind as in degree.— Lord Avebury. 
Champ Clark, of Missouri, was addressing the House of Rep- 
;sentatives on one occasion, when a rash member interrupted him 
ith some frivolous comment. Mr. Clark fairly shriveled up the 
lan who had "butted in," winding up his scorification in this 
|,ay: "Mr. Chairman, there was once a tenderfoot who struck the 
iriizly region looking for bear. He was all gotten up in the > 
' nest hunting garb and his weapons were the newest that could be 
btained. He had come to show the West how to kill grizzlies. 
Ie went forth one morning and never came back; and over his re- 
liaains they raised a stone which bore this epitaph, 'He whistled 
jor the gmzly and the grizzly came.' "—Brooklyn Eagle. 
"What makes your little boy swear so?" "Bad associations— 
)C works in s parrot store." — Cleveland Leader. 
Father De Smet, Black Robe. 
For more than four hundred years the Roman 
Catholic Church has been striving to convert the 
heathen of North America, and for about three hun- 
dred the members of the Society of Jesus have taken 
an important part in this work. The devotion to 
duty shown by these priests has excited the admiration 
of all students of American history, and furnished a 
fruitful theme for many a writer. Chief among such 
historians was Parkman, who, though recognizing that 
the Jesuits were men subject to the same infirmities 
which weaken us all, yet declared "that the Society of 
Jesus has numbered among its members men whose 
fervent and exalted natures have been intensified with- 
out being abased by the pressure to which they have 
been subjected." The labors of the Jesuits are not yet 
ended, and to-day in many a region of the farther West, 
as_ elsewhere, noble men are devoting their lives to 
this work of instructing and christianizing the savage. 
Of the Jesuits who have given their lives to this 
work none — among modern missionaries — is more 
famous than Father P. J. De Smet, whose labors 
among the western tribes lasted over thirty years, 
from 1838 until about 1870. During all these years 
he was traveling backward and forward between the 
Missouri River and the Pacific Coast constantly among 
Indians, whose temper was always uncertain, who were 
ever at war with each other, or with . the white man ; 
and in this wide region he was better known than any 
priest who has ever been through it. His energy was 
indefatigable, and his brave spirit carried him through 
every danger, difficulty and hardship. Of him it might 
be said, as was written of others: "The blazing sun of 
summer poured down upon them its withering heat; 
they did not blench. The frosts and snows of winter 
chilled them; they pushed on. The sky-reaching moun- 
tains barred their progress; they surmounted them. 
Floods stood in their way; they crossed them. Pain- 
fully, slowly, on foot through an unknown country, in 
perils of waters, in perils by the heathen, in perils in 
the wilderness, in weariness and painfulness, in watch- 
ings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in 
cold and nakedness, they held their steadfast way. No 
danger daunted them, no difficulty turned them back. 
Death did not stop their march. If one faltered, and 
stumbled and fell, another stepped calmly forward and 
took his place." 
In four handsome volumes, which have recently been 
published by Francis P. Harper, of New York, Major 
Hiram Martin Chittenden and Mr. Alfred T. Richard- 
son have told the story of Father De Smet's life, his 
travels, his missionary labors and adventures among the 
Indians and a vast amount of interesting information 
drawn from his observations during all his years of 
travel through the western country. Father De Smet 
was a prolific writer, and sent in to his superiors 
in the Church frequent accounts of where he had been 
and what he had seen and done. All this material, to- 
gether with his unpublished journals and letter books, 
have been at the command of the editors, who have 
added to them many historical, geographical, ethno- 
logical and other notes. The four volumes constitute 
a great work of over 1,600 pages with many illustrations. 
It is perhaps not too much to say that no man, who 
has left behind him any written record, ever traveled 
so much or so long through western America, or saw 
so many Indians. And of these travels, Father De 
Smet has given a full record, which abounds in in- 
formation about the natives of the region. The con- 
tribution to knowledge of the old habits, and especially 
of the ways of thought of the primitive Indians, is most 
interesting and valuable, and the whole work is one 
which must be read by every one who is interested in 
the early West. 
For two years Father De Smet labored with . the 
Pottawatomies, near Council Bluffs, but in the early 
part of the spring of the year 1840, he was sent by the 
Bishop of Missouri on an exploring expedition to the 
Rocky Mountains, in order to ascertain the dispositions 
of the Indians, and the prospect of success if the 
Jesuits were to establish a mission among them. With 
the annual expedition of the American Fur Company, 
under Captain Dripps, Father De Smet left West- 
port, Mo., on the 30th of April for the rendezvous ap- 
pointed for that summer on Green River. As they 
traveled westward, a number of tribes of Indians 
were met with — Cheyennes, Flatheads, Pends d'Oreilles 
and Crows— and at length, after a long round. Father 
De Smet brought up at Fort Union, at the mouth of 
the Yellowstone, where James Kipp was then in charge. 
In the light of subsequent events it is interesting to 
read the observations and predictions of the good 
priest about this region now so populous and fertile. 
"Along the banks of the river," he says, "vast plains 
extend, where we saw, from time to time, innumerable 
herds of wild antelopes. Further on we met with a 
quantity of buffaloes' skulls and bones, regularly ar- 
ranged in a semi-circular form, and painted in different 
colors. It was a nionument raised by superstition, for 
the Pawnees never undertake an expedition against the 
savages who may be hostile to their tribe, or against 
the wild beasts of the forest, without commencing the 
chase, or war, by some religious ceremony, performed 
amid these heaps of bones. At the sight of them our 
huntsmen raised a cry of joy; they well knew that the 
plain of the buffaloes was not far off, and they ex- 
pressed by these shouts the anticipated pleasure of 
spreading havoc among the peaceful herds. 
"Wishing to command a view of the hunt, I got 
up early in the morning and quitted the camp alone, 
in order to ascend a hillock near our tents, from which 
I might fully view the widely extended pasturages. 
After crossing some ravines, I reached an eminence, 
whence I descried a plain, whose radius was about 
twelve miles, entirely covered with wild oxen. You 
could not form, from anything in your European mar- 
kets, an idea of their movement and multitude. Just 
as I was beginning to view them, I heard shouts near 
me; it was our huntsmen, who rapidly rushed down 
upon the affrighted herd — the buffaloes fell in great 
numbers beneath their weapons. When they were tired 
with killing them, each cut up his prey, put behind him 
his favorite part, and retired, leaving the rest for the 
voracity of the wolves, which are exceedingly numer- 
ous in these places, and they did not fail to enjoy the 
repast. 
"On the 28th, we forded the southern arm of the 
river Platte. All the land lying between this river and 
the great mountains is only a heath, almost universally 
covered with lava and other volcanic substances. This 
sterile country, says a modern traveler, resembles, in 
nakedness and the monotonous undulations of its soil, 
the sandy deserts of Asia. Here no permanent dwelling 
has ever been erected, and even the huntsman seldom 
appears in the best seasons of the year. At all other 
times the grass is withered, the streams dried up; the 
buffalo, the stag, and the antelope, desert these dreary 
plains, and retire with the expiring verdure, leaving' 
behind them a vast solitude completely uninhabited. 
Deep ravines, formerly the beds of impetuous torrents, 
intersect it in every direction, but nowadays the 
sight of them only adds to the painful thirst which 
tortures the traveler. Here and there are heaps of 
stones, piled confusedly like ruins; ridges of rock, 
which rise up before you like impassable barriers, and 
which interrupt, without embellishing, the wearisome 
sameness of these solitudes. Such are the Black Hills; 
beyond these rise the Rocky Mountains, the imposing 
landmarks of the Atlantic world. The passes and 
valleys of this vast chain of mountains afford an asylum 
to a great number of savage tribes, many of whom are 
only the miserable remnants of different people, who 
were formerly in the peaceable possession of the land, 
but are now driven back by war into almost inacces- 
sible defiles, where spoliation can pursue them no 
further. 
"This desert of the West, such as I have just described 
it, seems to defy the industry of civilized man. Some 
lands, more advantageously situated upon the banks of 
rivers, might, perhaps, be successfully reduced to culti- 
vation; others might be turned into pastures as fertile 
as those of the East — but it is to be feared that this 
immense region forms a limit between civilization and 
barbarism, and that bands of malefactors, organized 
like the caravans of the Arabs, may here practice their 
depredations with impunity. This country will, perhaps, 
one day, be the cradle of a new people, composed of 
the ancient savage races, and of that class of adven- 
turers, fugitives and exiles, that society has cast forth 
from its bosom — a heterogeneous and dangerous popu- 
lation, which the American Union has collected like a 
portentous cloud upon its frontiers, and whose force 
and irritation it is constantly increasing, by transport- 
ing entire tribes of Indians from the banks of the 
Mississippi, where they were born, into the solitudes 
of the West, which are assigned as their place of 
exile. These savages carry with them an implacable 
hatred toward the whites, for having, they say, un- 
justly, driven them from their country, far from the 
tombs of their fathers, in order to take possession of 
their inheritance. Should some of these tribes here- 
after form themselves into hordes, similar to the 
wandering people, partly shepherds and partly war- 
riors, who traverse with their flocks the plains of 
Upper Asia, is there not reason to fear, that in process 
of time, they, with others, may organize themselves 
into bands of pillagers and assassins, having the fleet 
horses of the prairies to carry them; with the desert 
as the scene of their outrages, and inaccessible rocks 
to secure their lives and plunder? 
"On the 4th of June we crossed the Ramee (Larimie), 
a tributary river ■ of the Platte. About forty tents 
erected on its banks served as dwellings for a part of 
the tribe of the Sheyennes. These Indians are dis- 
tinguishable for their civility, their cleanly and decent 
habits. The men, in general, are of good stature, and 
of great strength; their nose is aquiline, and their 
chin strongly developed. The neighboring nations con- 
sider them the most courageous warriors of the 
prairies. Their history is the same as that of all 
the savages who have been driven back into the West — 
they are only the shadow of the once powerful nation 
of the Shaways, who formerly lived uj)on the banks of 
the Red River. The Scioux, their irreconcilable 
enemies, forced them, after a dreadful war, to pass over 
the Missouri, and take refuge on a little river called the 
AVarrikane, where they fortified themselves; but the con- 
querors again attacked them, and drove them from post to 
post, into the midst of the Black Coasts, situate upon 
the waters of the Great Sheyenne River. In conse- 
quence of these reverses, their tribe, reduced to two 
thousand souls, has lost even its name, being now 
called Sheyennes, from the name of the river that 
protects the remnant of the tribe. The Sheyennes 
have not since sought to form any fixed establishment, 
lest the Scioux should come again to dispute with them 
the lands which they might have chosen for their 
country. They live by hunting, and follow the buffaio' 
in his various migrations. 
"The principal warriors of the nation invited me to 
a solemn banquet, in which three of the great chief's 
best dogs were served up to do me honor. I had half 
a one for my share. You may judge of my embarrass- 
ment, when I tell you that I attended one of those 
feasts at which every one is to eat all that is offered 
to him. Fortunately, one may call to his aid another 
guest, provided that the requests to perform the kind 
of office be accompanied by a present of tobacco." 
From here on different tribes were met, Shoshones, 
Youts, Flatheads and Pends d'Oreilles. Father De 
Sitiet's admiration for the Flatheads was great. He 
says: 
"As I before mentioned, the only prevailing vice 
that I found among the Flatheads was a passion for 
games of chance — it has since been unanimously 
abolished. On the other hand, they are scrupulously 
honest in buying and selling. They have never been 
accused of stealing. Whenever any lost article is found 
it is immediately given to the chief, who informs the 
tribe of the fact, and restores it to the lawful owner. 
Detraction is a vice unknown even among the women; 
and falsehood is particularly odious to them. A forked- 
tongue (a liar), they say, is the scourge of a people. 
Quarrels and violent anger are severely punished. 
Whenever any one happens to fall into trouble, his 
neighbors hasten to his aid. The gaiety of their dis- 
