128 
FOREST AND STREAM 
SAFETY FIRST 
You hear it everywhere. The 
Safety is one of the superior 
points of the “Gun that Blocks 
the Sears.” The Safety which 
makes accidental discharge 
impossible. 
ESTABLISHED 1853 N. R. DAVIS & SONS, ^ ^ 707 , Assonet, Mass. 
Along the Shores 
(Continued 
of hot rice and rasins adorned with maple sugar 
—What the ——-— 
With satiety and drowsiness of after dinner, 
we lay back with cosy comfort and with the 
rhythmic cadence of the storm growing fainter 
in our ears we doze off and nap until late after¬ 
noon, when on arousing we find the wind has 
completely blasted our fire and swept the hearth 
clean and bare of the remotest particle of cinder. 
On coming ashore our intention was to pro¬ 
cure a meal and then seek less exposed quarters 
for the night; but our shelter is proving so trim 
and snug we are loath to pull stakes so late in 
the day, and pursue more favorable ground 
through the stress of the raging wind and rain. 
We therefore get busy and stake the foot of 
the cloth down more secure, placing the canoe 
along the back of the base as a further rear 
protection, and, as our guys are soaked and 
shrunken about all they can be, we stake out 
firmly on our front and haul all taut and solid 
and lazy-sheet our upstanding paddles suporting 
the ridge. 
A supply of firewood for the night is next in 
order. This we procure back on the shore in a 
grove of standing deadwood, and we soon have 
our hearth glowing and raging again, fanned by 
the gale, which means pile on huge logs of fuel 
and lay them close and compact. 
I make a fresh batch of biscuits toward even¬ 
ing and brew a pot of tea and as the shadows 
of night descend upon us, we feel—“All hunky” 
—and confident as we sip our hot beverage and 
have our supper. 
I unroll my sleeping-bag and turn in early; 
but Montie is interested in looking at the storm 
and searching through the darkness for the dif¬ 
ferent beacons that we should be able to pick up 
from our position; but all he can locate are the 
lights on the pier at Knotts Island and the flash¬ 
ing at uniform intervals of Carrituck Light, about 
ten miles distant on the dunes of the ocean beach. 
I fall asleep with Montie, glasses in hand still 
on the lookout and seeing things in the dark. 
What time he finally crawled into his blankets, I 
have no knowledge of; but at some unholy and 
to Somewhere Else 
from page 92 .) 
sinster hour of unilluminated doom and condem¬ 
nation, I awake amid an impetuous commotion of 
all fury broken loose, and Montie shouting from 
out of the depths of somewhere, “Mac! Mac!— 
Wake up, D!!—n it! The tent is going to 
H !! !— !” 
My first impression is, that it has already arriv¬ 
ed there. I could not see my finger if I stuck it 
in my eye, and something was smearing me in 
the face, while the roar of a hurricane, the thrash 
of heavy rain and the pounding of a heavy sea 
in my ears, and, a clatter and banging of other 
noises I failed to locate. My bed is cosy, dry 
and warm, so I knew I am still on the land, 
“What the H -!” I shouted. 
“The tents down!” roared Montie in the dark. 
“Lovely night, O! Lovely night.” 
* * * * *** * * * 
With the wind and rain a beating, 
And our cosy tent a fleeting. 
Soon our weary eyelids ope’— 
And slumber is no more—Goode dope. 
O! Our weary eyelids ope’, 
To thrashing cloth and lashing rope. 
The wind had shifted to the southward and 
had lifted and under-tripped our paddle supports 
and the ridge is down with the foot still hold¬ 
ing I shouts to Montie to grab his side of the 
camp-chest and grabbing the side nearest me, 
yanking it up nearer, we thus gain a bit of head 
room and hold a shouting confab, with the now 
pealing hurricane bellowing about us, the seas 
pounding and booming, the rain thrashing and 
smiting and the loose end of our shelter with 
the paddles attached, beating the long roll. 
In our water-proof sleeping-bags we are warm 
and dry, but the tent has to be attended to and 
set up conical to resist the storm, and we decide 
to go to it. I turn to my side to procure the 
mast, which is also our tent pole when the tent is 
erected with center peak, while Montie turns to 
his side to procure the axes. 
Reaching out of my sleeping bag I commence 
groping in the dark for the mast, and if my hand 
comes in contact with our thermos-bottles once, 
I think I must have moved and handled them a 
dozen times until it seems to me that my side of 
the camp is full of bottles, when I hear Montie 
shout from his side, “Say, Mac! How many 
coffee-pots we got in this outfit?” 
“One!” I shout back. 
“Must ’a had pups during the night! There’s a 
whole litter of ’em here now!” he shouts back. 
I get my hooks on the mast at last and roll 
over with it to find Montie had one axe but still 
groping for the other. 
Having been out in the rain the greater part 
of the day before, the only real dry clothing we 
have is in our sleeping bags with us, where we 
have placed them for pillows, so we remove our 
underclothes, and kick them well down into the 
bottom of our bags and turn out naked, rolling 
up the bags to keep out the weather both they 
and we are about to encounter; and then we crawl 
out from under our flapping tent. 
Whiff! Whiz! Whop! Talk about your needle- 
baths! Cold! Whew! Grab the dancing paddles, 
pull the guy stakes, walk into the base with folds 
of wet silk, rip up the foot, swing the canoe a 
bit to windward, tuck the sleeping bags beneath, 
erect the tent. How provident that the stakes are 
stable, and attached to the grummits. 
In the or’ful nasty darkness, 
Veiling modestly, our starkness; 
With the hurricane a stinging, 
On our skins the goose-flesh bringing, 
Straining every nerve and muscle, 
As with silk we tug and tussle. 
Hold her! Axes swing and stake her, 
Lordy, spume, spray upon us driving, 
While with peg and rope we’re striving, 
And the tempest, tempest roaring, 
Cold and chill, our in’ards goring. 
Guy her! Tie 'her! Firm and steady— 
Dive inside—Fine! Done already. 
My! How warm the shelter of the tent feels 
in comparison to the smite and pelting of the 
storm; but we remain only long enough to re¬ 
cover our breath and then dart out again for our 
sleeping bags, personal bags and the chest and 
bear them safely under shelter. 
After a good rub-down, dry underclothes and 
a nip of brandy, how comfy our blankets feel, as 
we lay snug and listen to the roar of the tempest 
about us, and though we drop into a doze from 
time to time, there is no more real sleep for us 
during the balance of the night. 
(To be Concluded.) 
s 
