Forest and Stream 
$3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MAY 25, 1912. 
VOL. LXXVIIL—No. 21. 
127 Franklin St., New York- 
From Eastern City to Western Forest 
Chapter 1.—The “Getting Out” 
By ERION 
A FEW years ago I was a city man; that is, 
I hunted money among tall buildings and 
in crowded streets, along with thousands 
of other anxious folks. Money is best hunted 
where it is most abundant—which is true of all 
sorts of game. 
I used to meet on a busy thoroughfare every 
now and then a little Quaker gentleman, an 
acquaintance of long standing. He was active 
and cheerful with always a good word on his 
lips. At times he was given to a 
certain sort of bantering humor. 
He had a way of pretending .at 
first not to see me; then of sud¬ 
denly springing a question or 
comment. 
One day he came toward me on 
the sidewalk with his eyebrows 
elevated and said: “Why, when 
did thee get out?’’ 
Whether he referred to a 
prison, a reformatory or a feeble¬ 
minded institution I did not stop 
to inquire, but simply answered, 
“I am not yet out.’’ Continuing. 
I told him of unceasing hopes and 
efforts to exchange urban for 
rural life; not because of a dis¬ 
like for the former, but on ac¬ 
count of an ever-increasing de¬ 
sire for the latter. 
My city office was in one of 
those monstrous structures called 
“skyscrapers’’ well toward the 
top. The building seemed like a huge bird box 
on a lofty pole, except that the holes or open¬ 
ings occurred all the way down the sides. It 
differed from a colony house for birds in an¬ 
other respect, for whereas feathered tenants can 
use outside routes of ingress and egress, it is 
necessary for human tenants to use inside routes. 
Sometimes I felt more like a monkey than a 
bird; a monkey daily ascending and descending 
the inside of a great hollow tree. 
There would have been a grand eastern out¬ 
look from my window, extending over miles of 
roofs, with a river and green fields in the dis¬ 
tance, except for the fact that it faced another 
window in another lofty wall some twenty feet 
away. And every day another monkey looked 
out of that window toward me. “Out,” indeed! 
We were both truly in cages. 
Across my corridor with unobstructed win¬ 
dows facing the west, a quiet old gentleman had 
his business home. I had a nodding or “Good 
morning” acquaintance with him; nothing more. 
He once went so far in the way of conversa¬ 
tion as to express a wish that things would 
“brighten up a little,” but he never complained. 
The noisy street, 200 feet below his office win¬ 
dows, had probably forgotten his existence. 
It was a pleasure to go occasionally into the 
old man’s office for the sake of the view from 
the windows. The foreground was artificial; the 
FAR FROM THE SKYSCRAPERS. 
background natural. Near at hand were solid 
blocks, then scattered buildings, then green fields 
and woodlands, then blue hills along the sky¬ 
line. I used to wonder what was behind and 
beyond those remote blue hills in the west. 
In the fullnes of time, way opened to travel 
to and through and a thousand leagues beyond 
that same blue horizon; to exchange the near 
Atlantic for the near Pacific; to make a reality 
of what had been a dream and a dream of what 
had been a reality. Men and animals soon adapt 
themselves and their habits to a changed en¬ 
vironment. I presently felt at home in the 
woods. 
There is a saying in the newer parts of the 
United States that the man who homesteads raw 
land seldom remains long upon it; nor does his. 
immediate successor. The struggle with prime- 
. val forest or unbroken prairie is too severe to 
be endured. It is the third comer who finds a 
home and takes permanent root, and who profits 
by the labor of his predecessors. In obtaining 
a home in a forest-surrounded valley, I entered 
as the third man, and soon was able to realize 
the economy of paying cash for improved land 
as compared to taking unimproved land from 
the Government free of cost or at a nominal 
price. 
Both of my predecessors did good work; the 
first in making a home, and the second in mak¬ 
ing a wagon trail to it. The first 
owner “packed” his supplies from 
the village, or from a nearer point 
on a public road; that is, he car¬ 
ried things on his back. The sec¬ 
ond owner made it possible for 
wheeled vehicles to enter the val¬ 
ley. 
The story of the first comer, 
the original homesteader, is full 
of encouragement. He was fifty- 
seven years old when he began 
the great battle with the wilder¬ 
ness. He took up two “forties” 
from the Government, and main¬ 
tained a two-sided struggle for 
more than twelve years. He was 
obliged to destroy before he could 
create. He waged destruction 
with axe and fire, and he waged 
construction with plow and spade. 
For instance, he burned down six¬ 
teen forest giants to secure a cer¬ 
tain quarter-acre of bottom land. 
One of the great trees fell in an unexpected 
direction, bridging the stream and almost crush¬ 
ing the cabin. (By to-day’s measurement that 
stump is nearly 300 feet from the cabin.) 
Thirteen auger holes were made in the trunk 
of that noble tree, and fire put in each hole. At 
night there were thirteen beacon lights across 
the valley. In a few days nothing remained ex¬ 
cept a line of ashes. 
Waiving the question of wisdom or unwisdom 
in thus wiping out of existence a large amount 
of valuable timber, we cannot but admire the 
patient courage of the pioneer who successfully 
overcomes such physical odds, and who makes 
a meadow of a marsh and an orchard of a forest. 
It may be noted that the old homesteader did 
not quit because of age or infirmity. At seventy 
he was still at work in the woods, and to this 
day he occasionally returns to look at his former 
home and to talk of the past. 
