880 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
fOct aS,. lOOg, 
Compass Trees, Feathered orms 
and Mudchucks. W 
The rule that the slender tips of hemlocks point to the 
rising sun holds good, not only in the Adirondacks, as 
Mr. E. A. Spears has remarked, but here, too, in the 
Great Smoky Mountains. I agree with Mr. Spears that 
prevailing winds have nothing to do with this phenom- 
enon. Wherever the situation admits direct sunlight all 
day, a large majority (say nine out of ten) of our hem- 
locks incline their tips toward the east or southeast, gen- 
erally a little south of east, and this is regardless of 
whether the trees are exposed to the full force of pre- 
vailing winds or are sheltered from them. On steep west- 
erly mountain sides, and in deep, narrow gulches shaded 
by steep mountains on the east, this rule is not reliable, 
because the morning sun is shut out. I am informed that 
pines and spruces also have a tendency to point their in- 
dexes toward the rising sun. 
Hemlocks reach their fullest development here in the 
mountains of western North Carolina,, where they abound 
along the water courses, up to about 3,500 feet, sometimes 
higher. Trees three or four feet thick and from 100 to 
125 feet high are common in my neighborhood, and occa- 
sionally even larger specimens are seen. There are no 
sawmills nor tanneries in our vicinity (alas! there soon 
will be), and the native mountaineers make almost no 
use of the hemlocks. In the clearings one sees scores of 
these giants standing dead and naked, having been girdled 
but not felled. The bark of these is gathered, as it falls 
off, by the women and children, to be used for cooking 
fuel, as it makes excellent coals. The wood is allowed to 
rot (unless the settler has a cookstove), as it pops too 
violently to be safe in an open fire-place. However, here 
and there a big hemlock is found that disobeys a general 
law of its kind by being straight-grained instead of split- 
ting spirally, and such are used for clapboards. It sur- 
prised me, when I first came here, last year, to see hem- 
lock clapboards five or six feet long, six or eight inches 
wide, thin as a shingle, and not a bit winding. One of 
my neighbors has recently inclosed a ten-acre field with 
a fence of hemlock palings, all split with a froe. 
Our mountaineers call this tree the “spruce pine.” The 
word hemlock, to them, means the tall plant leucothoe, 
which grows rankly along the creeks wherever there is 
a road or trail. This leucothoe is poisonous to cattle. 
In the autumn its leaves turn to a splendid bronze that 
lasts all winter. Children gather the branches, along with 
galarr, and sell them to shippers, who send them north for 
Chruimas decorations — some of these go^ even to London, 
I am told. 
Have you ever seen chestnut wood that burns well 
when green? I never did until recently. On the back- 
bone of the Smokies, up to the balsam zone (which begins 
at about 6,000 feet, hereabouts), all deciduous trees are 
of exceptionally dry, hard and tough nature; beech takes 
fire like birch, and even green chestnut burns readily, 
though with a sreat splutter. Yet the climate of the 
Smokies, taking it the year through, is the wettest in the 
United States, save along western Florida and the north- 
west Pacific coast. 
Speaking of tree names, I used to wonder what gave 
the blackjack oak so meaningless a name, until one day 
I ran across a passage in an old pamphlet tJiat suggests 
an explanation. In 1791, Lieut. -Col. (afterward the no- 
torious Getieral) James Wilkinson was sent on an expe- 
dition against L’Anguille and the Indians on the Wabash. 
In his report to Governor St. Clair (dated “Frankfort- 
on-Kentucky, Aug. 24, 1791”) Wilkinson describes a part 
of his march in the following terms : 
“The whole part of the country, from the Wabash to 
the margin of Eeel River, being a continued thicket of 
brambles, blackjacks, weeds, and shrubs of different kinds, 
it was impossible for me to get a satisfactory view.” A 
little farther in the narrative he says : “I found this town 
scattered along Eel River for full three miles, on an un- 
even scrubby oak barren, intersected alternately by bogs 
almost impassable, and impervious thickets of plumb, 
hazel and blackjackets.” 
The term blackjacket is quite appropriate to a tree the 
bark of which is as dark as the black oak’s. Blackjack 
is apparently a mere abbreviation, to save breath. The 
fact that Wilkinson used both terms within a page or two 
of each other seems to show that the name was then in 
transition to its modern curtailed form. 
Changing the subject from trees to insects, and things 
in general, I note that my old friend George Kennedy 
has found a “rattlesnake ant” that stings knife-blades and 
(didn’t he say?) leaves the stinger in. And it is sure 
pizen, too! Verily, a fellow sometimes does see strange 
things in Missouri, when he hasn’t got a gun. I used to 
see ’em myself, when I lived there ; though I have no per- 
sonal acquaintance with this particular varmint. Now, I 
am far from demurring to anything that George may claim 
for his bug. I don’t doubt in the least that he saw it 
experiment hypodermically with the knife-blade, and that 
its injection was properly toxic. What I want to know is, 
what became of the knife? I am making special researches 
in the line of' “snake-master yarbs” (of which, more 
anon), and wish to learn if Kennedy used one in this 
emergeiacy; or did he stick the knife in a live chicken? or 
did he pow-wow? or fall back on that sixteen-dollar 
medico-chirurgical kit? By the way, George, please mail 
me a copy of your pamphlet when you get it out. I find 
these things very interesting. 
But, speaking of seeing things, North Carolina sees 
Missouri and goes her one better in the small deer line. 
We haven’t a rattlesnake ant, but we have a worm that 
wears feathers, and they are its own growth of feathers. 
too ; besides which it is a pizen worm, whose bite swells 
people up in a few seconds, like snakebite. You need not 
take my word for this, for I haven’t seen the ihonster; but 
the Asheville correspondent of the Chicago Tfibpne has 
this to say about it in a recent issue: ’ ' 
WORM HAS A COAT OF FEATHERS. 
It Has a Poisonous Bite, Too, as Many North Caro- 
linians Can Testify. 
Asheville, N. C. — A feathered worm has made its ap- 
pearance in different parts of the State, and a number of 
people have been made ill by its bite. 
The insect is not unlike a white earth worm, but has a 
covering of brown down similar to that of a young bird. 
Its bite is so poisonous that in a few seconds after receiv- 
ing the wound the victim swells enormously and- displays' 
symptoms not unlike those of snake bite. 
The worm feeds on maple trees and rose bushes. Its 
presence on the latter accounts for the number of women 
victims. No one is able to classify the insect. Several 
specimens are being prepared for shipment to Washington 
for examination to establish its identity. i 
Wonder what would be the result from burbanking 
this North Carolina wum with the Missouri sting-bug. 
Wouldn’t it be a corker? 
My personal explorations in the domain of invertebrate 
zoology have yielded nothing noteworthy of late, unless 
it be a fishworm two feet long that I picked up on the 
summit of Siler’s Bald, nearly 6,000 feet above sea level. 
This worm, aside from its unconventional length, and its 
color, which was almost white, looked to my unscientific 
eyes just like an ordinary earthworm. The natives say 
that these big worms are common on the high mountains 
hereabouts, but are never seen elsewhere. Like all other 
well conducted worms, these live in the ground. They do 
not wear feathers nor stingers; but I won’t say that they 
couldn’t if they wanted to. 
By the way, do all of you people know how to cook a 
mudchuck? If not, your education has been neglected. 
The other day Uncle Bob Flowers came over from Bone 
Valley, chasing after a wild cow. I headed off the cow. 
Bob roped her, and then I invited him in. Just then john 
Cook came along down the trail toting a five-foot muzzle- 
loader and a big woodchuck. 
“Uncle Bob,” I inquired, “did you ever eat a wood- 
cliuck ?” 
“Reckon I don’t know what them is.” 
“Groundhog?” 
“O la! dozens of ’em; but I never done heered that 
name afore — some of our folks calls ’em mudchucks. The 
red ones hain’t good, but the gray ones! man, they’d jes 
make your mouth water !” 
“How do you cook them?” 
“Cut the leetle red kernels out from under their fore 
legs; then bile ’em, fust— all the strong is left in the 
water — then pepper ’em, and sage ’em, and put ’em in a 
pan, and bake ’em to a nice rich brown, and — then I don’t 
want nobody there but me!” 
Well, I must stop writing, and bake some bread for to- 
morrow. At daylight I start on a bear hunt that may 
last a week. Will range from Thunderhead to Glingman 
Dome, and over the abutting ridges from Killpecker to 
the Welch Divide, or possibly to the headwaters of the 
Okona Lufty, where the Qualla Cherokee reserve begins. 
Will still-hunt two or three days and then join a party on 
the summit of Siler’s Bald, and hunt with the best pack of 
bear dogs in North Carolina, the Plott hounds from 
Waynesville, and Little John Cable’s three powerful half- 
breeds, the former great trailers, the latter the most 
valiant fighters that I have ever known. What do you 
think of a young dog that, tackling his first bear, bites it 
back of the fore leg, through hair and hide, clear through 
into the “holler,” leaving a hole through which you could 
run your hand and grasp the bear’s heart? I have seen 
that. The dog was badly mauled in the doing of it, but 
he helped fight and tree another bear the next night 
The still-hunting, however, is more to my taste. It is 
not all of hunting to hunt. Wish some of you foresters 
and stream.ers were with me. It is lonesome here. 
Horace Kephart. 
Medlin, N. C., Oct. 16. , 
Qwcet Doings of the Gtoose. 
Sayre, Pa., Oct. 21. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
Speaking of crazy grouse in October reminds me that as 
for what I see of them when the season opens they seem 
so crazy to get away that a brick house would hardly 
stop their flight. But the fact remains, nevertheless, that 
they dp some strange things. Sayre is situated between 
two rivers with mountains on each side of the town, the 
nearest three-fourths of a mile, the other two and one- 
half miles; the rivers are between the mountains and the 
town. In October, 1891, a ruffed grouse flew through the 
dining room window of George Carroll, living in the 
center of the town, at about 6 :45 A. M. The direction 
from the mountain is east and west. The window was in 
the south of the house. In October, 1903, a grouse flew' 
through the cellar window of Dr. A. E. Murry, at ii 130 
A. M. This bird came direct from the east side of the 
Susquehanna River and was seen for some distance be" 
fore it took its fatal plunge through the window. 
A Friend of M. Chill. 
THE ORIGINAL MANY-USE OIL 
Polishes stocks, barrel, pianos, floors, furniture. Little does much. 
—Adv. - . ' ' " • 
The Biography of a Bear. — VI 
One of our objective points was a stopping place on 
the road called Summit Spring, where an old pioneer, 
Henry Jones, had established a summer home and cleared 
several acres, seeding them to timothy. His hay was 
readily disposed of to a transitory class of people known 
as Oregon emigrants — they were in the main people who 
found it cheaper or more to their fancy to live upon the 
road than elsewhere. I would like to^ say some things 
about them, but will let it go unless they come across the 
firing line of this history. 
Henry Jones happened to be my grandfather, although 
he sometimes looked at me as though he were at a loss 
to account for or realize it. He was undemonstrative 
generally, and he could readily adapt himself to good 
fortune -vyithout display of excitement. I never knew him 
to boast about it. He accepted me and some of his other 
relatives with a modesty that might easily have been con- 
strued as verging upon indifference, or resignation. Peo- 
ple’s ancestors are sometimes reticent in advanced age. 
After long enjoyment of a blessing many of us take it 
without manifesting much enthusiasm. 
Henry Jones had been among and of the first settlers 
of Ohio, Illinois, Indiana and Iowa — and finally of Cali- 
fornia. As soon as civilization became a little intense 
in a place he alw'ays moved further West — as long as the 
West held out. He sojourned in western territory, 
chiefly in Illinois, long enough to rear a family of seven 
children, but meanwhile made three trips across the con- 
tinent to California with ox teams, each time being the 
gUde and captain of his train. His first trip to- California 
was close in the tracks of the pathfinders — Carson and 
Fremont- — and he had known and affiliated with both of 
them. In 1849 he had established a trading post at Lower 
Springs, a place first selected for the site for the town of 
Shasta, but that town was eventually centered two miles 
west. 
What the old gentleman did not know about pioneer 
life and the emergencies and difficulties of the border is 
not of much consequence. With the ax and the rifle he 
was as good a man as ever blazed a trail, built a log 
house or defended a post on the American frontier. In 
council as well as in camp he was a leader, and one of 
the main props and advisers of many settlements and 
towns. 'He maintained his trading post and store near 
Shasta from 1849 or 1850 until 1872. He sold many a 
cargo of flour for from $20 to $50 per barrel, potatoes at 
a dollar apiece, in ^old dust, and all other articles o-f, food 
and necessity at '.proportionate prices, and yet he never 
accumulated to himself more than a few thousand dollars 
— not half as much as a corner cigar store will clear in a 
few weeks under our improved system of commercialism. 
If one of our modern cashiers could have his opportu- 
nities he would own the earth, or be in cahoot with Mr. 
Rockefeller. And then he would reach for heaven. 
Plenry Jones at the age of seventy and later was filling 
timber, clearing and cultivating his mountain ranch, his 
ambitions centered in his homestead of a few acres in a 
forest in the Shasta Mountains. But for many years, in 
connection with his trading post, he repaired and made 
guns and perfected several mechanical inventions of im- 
portance. In his time arms of all descriptions, from the 
flintlock blunderbuss to repeating magazine rifles, were in 
use. In his shop at Lower Springs, near Shasta, he had 
at one-time a collection that would be of historic value 
had it been preserved until now. When a boy of twelve 
I remember examining with awe and wonder the battered 
and scarred flintlocks, the later “yagers” with nipple and 
percussion “hat” fulminators, cast-iron muskets that I 
could not lift, pepper-box revolvers with six or seven 
cast-iron barrels that revolved, Colt’s revolvers with cap 
and round ball and of all degrees of development. There 
were also the later Springfield muskets and other army 
guns, some of which used cartridges that came packed in 
wooden blocks and the powder encasement of which was 
a kind of parchment that had to be bitten off before the 
charge was put into- the muzzle of the gun and rammed 
home with an iron ramrod. 
There were old bayonets and swords, fowling pieces 
inlaid with engraved gold and silver and with finely en- 
graved ribs and mountings. There were broken odds and 
ends of all sorts, boxes filled with curious bullets, bullet 
molds, percussion caps, cartridges of curious foreign 
make, powder horns and chargers, dismantled gun-sights, 
locks, stocks and barrels. There were horse pistols, the 
muzzles of which looked like the entrances to tunnels 
underground, only more disparaging. Some of these 
weapons were almost large enough in the bore to have 
offered a place of refuge if their owners had got in a tight 
place outside of them. Some of the horse pistols were 
merely sawed-off rifles. There were short pocket derrin- 
gers in which one could see the ball, which looked as 
though it would come out with considerable impetuosity, 
whether you wanted it to or not. 
Perhaps the most interesting things in the collection 
were the heavy long barreled, round ball, muzzle-loading 
rifles, on some of which the stock extended to the muzzle, 
while many of them had the heavy, octagonal barrels of 
soft metal commonly used in the West from 1850 to 1870, 
or later. Some of them were battered and broken, and 
all their parts worn smooth with long usage. They were 
mended with wire, screwed plates, with wooden pins, 
with buckskin strings. What a history might have been 
woven from these things — every one of which had cross.ed 
the continent and many of them other continents and 
oceans — by the antiquarian or student fitted to weave it. 
How they might picture ■the western half of America if 
they could speak of the incidents of forest, mountain, 
field and. flood. What tragedies and triumphs of con- 
quest and defeat and despair! What a death-roll of de- 
struction was implied in their very ruin and junk! The 
men who, could tell about them are dead— many of them 
