326 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Sept. 13, 1913. 
An Old Sailor’s Yarn 
Part Four 
By HENRY D. ATWOOD 
eye could see. Were we alone on earth? It 
seemed so. But we must get that deer. We 
had reached the western side of the ridge, and 
there were the heart-shaped tracks, the nipped 
tops of the berry bushes, a language even I, in¬ 
experienced as I was, could plainly read. 
Where had he gone? He had surely been 
here after the snow fell. There they are, lead¬ 
ing straight toward the top of the ridge in a 
northeast course. Wind in my face, I followed 
the tracks slowly. I had gone less than a quar¬ 
ter of a mile from the berry patch, and was now 
at the top of the ridge and just inside the timber 
line, and there lay a fallen tree with the top 
to the south. When within thirty feet of the 
middle of the trunk I halted. Leading around 
to its eastern side, around the roots of the tree, 
the tracks continued. The snow had cushioned 
my footsteps and no noise that I heard was 
made by me. A strange feeling came over me. 
It has been said that the Indian hunter “feels” 
when he is going to make a kill. Be that as it 
may, I had the feeling that at this spot I would 
get my first deer, and was convinced he was on 
the eastern side of that tree, trunk, but how to 
proceed I did not know. I was not excited, but 
afraid to move lest I start him, and not be in 
a position to shoot, for as this tree lay on the 
extreme top of the ridge, and thick low bushes, 
high enough, however, to conceal a deer, com¬ 
menced so close to the tree that one jump would 
land the deer out of vision, it would take quick 
work. I raised my rifle to shoulder, slid back 
the safety, finger on trigger and stood debating 
whether to proceed. Perhaps a half minute I 
stood thus, when with a terrific crashing sound 
into the air, head high to me, went that gray and 
white ball directly in front of the muzzle of the 
rifle. I pulled the trigger. When the deer struck 
the ground, he was well within the thicket. Ex¬ 
amination of the bed under the other side of 
the tree trunk. Then the tracks where he hit 
the ground gave evidence that he was hit, and 
that hard. What had started him? The wind 
was blowing from him to me. The tree trunk 
was tight to the ground. He could not have 
seen under or over it. I do not know. Well, 
had i got him? We will see. 
Having been told never to follow swiftly 
after a wounded deer, and to approach with 
caution, slowly I followed and searched, and soon 
saw where his leaps ended and toboggan slide 
down hill commenced, and a hundred yards from 
the scene of the shooting I found him against 
the foot of a tree, ham shot and shoulder shot, 
the .30-30 bullet having gone through him end¬ 
ways. And there lay my first deer, a three-year- 
old buck, they told me, and nice juicy venison 
it proved to be. My watch said 11 o’clock a. m. 
My companion had heard the shot, and had 
started in my direction, for I had told him I 
would circle round and come up the hill back 
of him, and he reached me soon after the dis¬ 
covery of the dead deer, and his words of greet¬ 
ing indicated his generous nature, “Buck at that, 
an’ I rather you got him than me.” He wanted 
me to have the experience. 
I have had several successful hunts since, 
but never have had and never expect to have so 
strange an experience as the first. Old hunters 
had told me that a deer always made its bed 
so it could watch its tracks and see the hunter 
on its trail. Why did this one violate the first 
law of deer preservation ? 
A FTER a tiresome journey, during which I 
availed myself of every opportunity to 
get a lift on a cart or coach, as the case 
might be, I found myself one cold winter’s night 
within the winding streets of Boston. 
There I wandered up and down for some 
time, looking in at the shop windows, and wan¬ 
dering where and how I should spend the night 
without a penny in my pocket. 
As I was gazing intently into a jeweler’s 
window, a large, portly man suddenly approached 
me and said: “Well, young man, 'you look as 
if you had been a sailor, but had been in a gale 
lately. Do you want a berth on board my ship? 
I am about to sail for Norfolk and should be 
glad to have you go with me.” 
Ragged, worn and half-starved, it may well 
be believed I accepted the kind invitation with 
a grateful heart; and the “old man” forthwith 
took me into a nearby restaurant and ordered 
a full supply of the best viand the cuisine af¬ 
forded. I shall never forget that meal, com¬ 
prising a rare beefsteak, some fried potatoes, 
hot rolls, coffee, and winding up with buckwheat 
cakes and molasses. The captain looked on with 
satisfaction as the provender disappeared with 
rapidity down my voracious throttle, and when 
I had cleared the board, he said: “Well, my 
boy, you have made a good beginning, and if 
you are half as good a sailor as you are a feeder, 
I shall have no cause for complaint.” 
“Captain,” said I, “while on board your ship 
I will endeavor to do my duty to the best of 
my ability, and furthermore I wish 1o assure you 
now that your kindness to me will never be 
forgotten.” 
And then I went on and narrated to him 
the story of my last terrible experience in the 
wilds of Vermont with the ravenous, devouring 
wolves. 
He expressed great surprise at my narration 
and said that for his part he should never want 
to pass through such an experience, and the 
longer he lived the more firmly convinced he 
became that the wide sea was the safest place 
in the world to traverse, as there was nothing 
but the soughing of the waves in pleasant 
weather, with an occasional tempest to prevent 
one’s life from becoming too monotonous. 
He was a good old captain, and I shall never 
forget his kindness to me. I accompanied him 
on several voyages between Norfolk and Boston, 
and might have been with him to this day if I 
had not by chance fallen in with an old ship¬ 
mate who had been seriously injured by a fall 
from the yard arm while on shipboard, and had 
been obliged to abandon the sea for that reason. 
This old tar told me while in Norfolk that 
he was about to take a trip through Virginia 
to see some of his relatives, and invited me to 
go with him, assuring me that I would have a 
warm reception. I notified my good friend the 
captain of my intention, and while he did not 
wish to part with me, he said: “My lad, go 
with your mess-mate as you wish, and when you 
get tired of living the life of a land lubber, come 
back to me again, and I will always have a berth 
for you.” I thanked the old man for all his 
kindness toward me, and told him that I should 
never forget him as long as I lived, and bade 
him good-bye and departed with my chum, Jack 
Wilson. 
Jack proved himself to be a good com¬ 
panion and was always good natured and ad- 
pan ion to the extreme. After arriving at his 
relatives', who were rejoiced to receive him, al¬ 
beit accompanied by a stranger, we remained 
some days, passing our time in inglorious ease 
beneath the shadow of the vast forests, and 
listening to the soft sighing of the winds as 
Quintilian or some other beggar has it, for I 
remember of reading it somewhere. 
It was reported that the cougars were pretty 
plentiful .in the surrounding country, and that 
some means should be taken to thin them out, 
or it would be dangerous to travel, even by day 
time, through the regions they infested. Jack 
proposed that we should take our guns and a 
pack of provisions and set out for these preda¬ 
tory beasts, which I was loath to do after my 
experience with the wolves. But Jack urged it 
so sorely that I finally consented, and now I will 
proceed to relate what thereafter upon us fell: 
We departed with perhaps an outward bold 
demeanor, but as for myself I felt a shudder 
of fear, as I bethought myself of my last ex¬ 
perience with the savage heasts of the wilds. 
However, at the dawn of a splendid autumnal 
morning, we set forth on our adventures with 
a final parting and promise to the good folks 
at home that we would soon return, and bring 
them a sufficient supply of cougar skins to keep 
them warm throughout the days of winter. 
We traveled for three days into the recesses 
of the forest, camping wherever night overtook 
us, and on the forenoon of the fourth day ar¬ 
rived at the banks of the river, where we ex¬ 
pected to find alligators, as well as cougars in 
the woods. 
I had seated myself under a live oak and 
had prepared my fishing rod to try for some of 
the fish, which were leaping all around me, when 
I was startled by the roar of some animal in 
the distance. Soon in the canebrake a short 
distance below me I heard the sound of feet 
trampling down the cane, and scattering the 
shells that lay along the shore. 
As soon as I recovered from my surprise I 
resolved to take a view of what I supposed to 
be a couple of prairie bulls in battle, an occur¬ 
rence common in this country and season. 
When I reached the scene of action I be¬ 
held a large black bear reared up on his hind 
legs, with his fore paws raised aloft as if to 
make a lunge. His head was besmeared with 
white foam, sprinkled with red, which dropping 
from his mouth, rolled down his shaggy breast. 
Frantic from the smarting of his wounds, 
he stood gnashing his teeth, and growling at his 
enemy. A few paces in his rear was the cane- 
brake, from which he had entered. On a bank 
of snow white shells, spotted with blood, in 
