Dec. 8. 1906. j 
FOREST AND STREAM 
899 
less weapons to the guides, and it was the pleas¬ 
ure seeker who took gasolene boats to the fisher¬ 
men—and it takes a long while for most men to 
see the point. The people who are building 
summer homes along the shores of the Chesa¬ 
peake Bay are doing a great deal to develop the 
region, but these home-seekers have played havoc 
with shore front prices. Everything is a “hun¬ 
dred dollars an acre,” and bargains are not easy 
to get. Back from the shore the width of a 
farm, one can buy as good land for a few dollars 
an acre. 
We were at a landing which the steamer visited 
twice a week. The impulse had not come to 
make the most of the_ land. There were woods 
on every side, and the farms seemed like mere 
clearings. Many depended on the bay bottoms 
for their’ living, letting go the opportunity for 
fruits and vegetables. 
Like the bay craft, the people “run in patches.” 
Some are very old fashioned, primitive and sus¬ 
picious; while along Big Choptank, for instance, 
are generous and able farmers. Further down 
the bay, in Virginia, one finds the old fashioned 
southern type. On the islands the people vary 
from the gum boot trappers to the haughty 
patent leather type of say, Deal’s Island. 
A low pile bridge crosses Slaughter Creek at 
Taylor’s Island post-office. At the draw is the 
steamboat landing, and we were tied to the piles, 
on the lee side. The waves started a few hun¬ 
dred feet away at the low land, and gaining 
height as they came, sloshed under the dock and 
flung the canoe up and down. Our night’s rest 
was broken at frequent intervals by the pound 
and boom of the boat against the side. Once I 
crawled out to look at the cleats by which we 
were held, and found one loose. The sweep of 
the wind was exceedingly vicious. In the morn¬ 
ing the wind rose higher and higher, and the 
canoe was pounded more and more. We had a 
time swinging it around to catch the wind right, 
but everything looked well enough when I started 
after a pail of water. 
On returning, I found that disaster had just 
been averted. Rusk was in the cabin getting 
dinner when a mightier bump than usual caused 
him to look out. To his astonishment he found 
that the bow line had pulled loose, and the boat 
had swung around against the draw bridge and 
dropped down in the trough of a wave, and the 
cabin roof came up under a beam end. The boat 
was heeled till the water came in over the comb¬ 
ing. It looked as though it would sink right 
there, but two men happened to be coming across 
the bridge headed for the store, and being handy 
with ropes and boats, got the stern line clear 
and hauled the canoe free from the bridge just 
in time. In two minutes more, the boat would 
have filled, and unquestionably sunk, for the craft’s 
timber was waterlogged. Worst of all, Rusk 
himself would have been in jeopardy, for getting 
on to the bridge'meant a jump and a scramble at 
best. 
The wind continued to howl all day without 
signs of abating, but there came a lull about 3 '.30 
o'clock, of which we took advantage by going 
through the draw. The draw was worked by 
hand, by means of a huge crank turned like a 
stile on the bridge walking the draw around. 
The blacksmith under Rusk’s direction suc¬ 
ceeded in making him a crank, and the engine 
was once more partially under control. We tried 
it, and the engine went, whereupon we gave some 
spectators a ride in Slaughter Creek. The engine 
behaved admirably, but Rusk saw that there was 
little business to be done among such islanders, 
so he determined to go up the creek far enough 
to be out of the wind for the night. 
The tide was coming in, and being assured 
that there was plenty ‘of water in the channel 
of Slaughter Creek, we started up it. There was 
some doubt as to whether we could get through 
because of a bridge somewhere beyond, and the 
grassy shoals of the Honga River might compel 
us to turn back after leaving the creek. More¬ 
over, we were assured that the way was long 
and intricate, with many tempting creeks lead¬ 
ing away to right or left which might fool us 
into a labyrinth of endless channels and lost 
sloughs. Nevertheless, it was worth risking 
rather than go into the big bay, and make the 
long and profitless journey on the wide water. 
In any event, we could probably return the way 
we had come. 
The real joy of a rambling journey is oftenest 
‘found on some little out-of-the-way creek, like 
this one. Perhaps a gasolene launch never went 
through Slaughter Creek before. Ours was not 
without its little adventure. Half a mile from 
the bridge, just where the wind had its fullest 
sweep, we were obliged to shut down to con¬ 
sider which way to go. The water shoaled 
alarmingly in all directions, and going aground 
even in such a narrow place was not to be risked, 
for once we struck, the boat would unquestion¬ 
ably fill in five minutes. Mud might even swallow 
it up. 
Finally we thought we saw the way, and at¬ 
tempted to get the engine going, but spray had 
wet something, and we had to rub the machine 
dry. It was necessary to anchor, an unpleasant 
alternative with night coming on, and the boat 
rocking and lunging worse than ever. We had 
come seeking shelter, and we determined to get 
to it. The engine started, the boat plowed ahead, 
and by good luck, materially assisted by Rusk’s 
long experience in Albemarle and Pamlico sound 
shoals, we hit the real creek, and as the sun 
went down, cut through the narrow waters on 
slow speed. 
It was a very interesting place to me. I stood 
at the bow, of course, sounding for the channel, 
yelling, “Port” or “Starboard” according to where 
I found the shoal. The creek was like the body 
of a running snake—it had neither straight reach 
nor angle in it. Ahead of us was always the 
bank, while off to the right or left squirmed 
the water between low, marsh grass banks. 
Sometimes we seemed to be approaching a woods 
shelter on the marsh, only to be led from it far 
toward the other side of the open. At one turn 
the wind smacked us up against the bank. At 
another we grounded. One turn was so short 
that we couldn’t make it, so I jumped ashore and 
cordelled around the point. Time and again we 
had to stop the engine, to study the way before 
us. 
It was rapidly coming dusk, and still we had 
no place to lie which would be out of the wind, 
while ahead was the elusive shelter “just around 
the next bend.” Suddenly, we banged full tilt 
into a sand bar. An eel, stirred from the bar, 
scared by the propeller doubtless, rushed up out 
of the water toward the grass in its amazement. 
I almost pitched over the bow into the deep pool 
just ahead of the reef we were on. 
The canoe refused to budge. We pushed, 
strained, hauled, but without avail. While we 
worked we noticed that the tide was going out. 
We worked harder, and got the boat teetering 
on the edge of the reef, but there it hung im¬ 
movable. We threw the anchor and tried to 
kedge off, but without avail. Finally we decided 
to wait for the turn of the tide. We crawled 
into the cabin, cooked supper, made our bunk 
and settled down to read the adventures of 
Vidocq and Black Eyed Somebody. We were 
about to go to sleep, when it became alarmingly 
apparent that the boat was tipping down by the 
head and heeling over alarmingly. 
We got up and looked out. The tide was still 
ebbing, suckling under the down-pointed bow. 
It seemed as though it could not go out much 
longer, nevertheless a little more fall would 
be distinctly dangerous for the safety of the boat. 
A little more down, and a little more tip, and 
our boat might shoot head first into the channel 
under water. At best, the rising tide would find 
the boat without buoyancy enough to raise the 
combing above the rising waters. The more we 
studied the situation, the less we liked it. 
[to be continued.] 
Moose and Hares in Nova Scotia. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I have just received a letter from a valued cor¬ 
respondent in Nova Scotia, Dr. Y. C. Lockwood, 
a portion of which will, I think, prove interest¬ 
ing to some of your readers. In his letter my 
friend says: 
“Your article on the American hare, published 
in Forest and Stream, was very interesting. 
This year finds them even more plentiful than 
last; some of the farmers tell me that their gar¬ 
dens have been totally destroyed by them. This 
was a great season for moose. Nearly every 
hunting party was successful. One party had the 
unheard of experience of calling up at one time 
si.x bulls, three of.which they shot, one for each 
man of the party.” 
Letters from other correspondents are all to 
the effect that moose are exceptionally abundant 
in Nova Scotia this season, find that every hun¬ 
ter has no difficulty in securing his quota of one, 
to which he is limited by law. 
Edward A. Samuels. 
