hand. Ishook my head, saying, ‘‘no whiskey,” at which 
he seemed much depressed, but rallying ina moment said, 
“ Kinikinick give Nitchee.” Twas as non plussed as before, 
and replied, ‘you have got me again,” when making a 
motion of holding a pipe in his mouth, he says, ‘ puff, 
puff.” I cyphered that out of course, and brought out 
my box which happened to be nearly full. He accepted 
the most of it, filled his stone pipe, struck a light with 
flint and steel, and after a few whiffs in silence he abruptly 
asked, ‘‘ Where you wigwam?” [pointed westward, (I was 
really running north), and held up six fingers, meaning six 
miles, and I shall never forget the effect on that Indian as, 
drawing himself up to his full height with all the air of a 
nobleman in his innocence, accused of crime, he feelingly 
said, placing his hand upon his heart, ‘‘ Me honest Nitchee, 
no steal.” He knew very well that I would not be six 
miles from camp so near dark, that I would not be running 
north when our camp was west, and he judged rightly that 
I was afraid he might come some day in our absence and 
steal our blankets, &c. I could not help smiling to see 
how I was caught, but rallying; I asked him where his’ 
wigwam was. Holding up three fingers with one crossed 
at the middle joint, he pointed south, meaning two and one- 
half miles in that direction. I asked him how many 
in his wigwam; he replied, ‘old squaw, young squaw, 
three pappoose,” which I afterwards found to be correct. 
After talking with him a little longer (or trying to), thinking 
it best to be on good terms, I gave him an invitation to call 
and see us at our camp—you can find it, can’t you? At 
this his eyes glistened, as he said: ‘‘ Me fine you, me fine 
you,” pointing to the broad double track behind my 
snow shoes. Sure enough, I had not thought of that, but 
there was a trail he could not well miss. 
It must have been a week or more after this that shortly 
after our arrival at camp, our birch bark was raised and a 
pair of glistening black eyes peered within, and the gut- 
teral ‘‘ Bozw, bozu,” startled us. It is singular, but I be- 
lieve no less true, that an Indian will never enter a camp 
or any habitation without first peeking in and taking a 
view of its occupants. I never knew it otherwise. He was 
politely asked to enter, and after lighting his pipe he 
squatted down by the fire. I brought a couple of grouse 
and commenced plucking one preparatory toa stew. He 
immediately took it from my hand, looking carefully over 
it and discovering that the body had not been penetrated 
by the bullet, (Eben always shot at their heads), he said 
‘Me show you, make good.” Then he raked a hole in the 
hot ashes and covered the bird up just as it was. I kept the 
other one, and having picked, dressed and cut it up, was 
about putting it over a three quart pail with abit of pork and 
hard tack, when he raked out his bird, and a pretty look- 
ing thing it was, with the head and Wings, and legs burnt 
off, a black, charred ball about the size of my fist. ‘‘A nice 
thing to eat,” I said, but mark the result. Upon looking 
nearer, the feathers seemed to have burnt down close to 
the skin, but the scorch had stopped right there, and upon 
giving a slight twitch, the whole peeled off, leaving the 
body of the bird a nice clean white. It did look nice, but 
Tsaid, ‘“‘The insides, you didn’t take them out.” Upon 
making an opening, the intestines were found to be dried 
up in a small knot on one side, and with a slight pull came 
out clean, leaving the body of the bird intact, and upon 
tasting it 1 found it really delicious, thoroughly cooked, 
and not too much so, certainly as nice and juicy a piece 
of.game as I ever tasted. But how that redskin ever got 
just the right thing on it I could never tell, for I have 
made the experiment a dozen times or more and I either 
burnt up my bird or did not half cook it. But I noticed 
that Mr. Indian did full justice to our stew, after which 
and a smoke he curled himself in his blanket with his ‘feet 
toward the fire, and I don’t believe he moved a foot, hardly 
amuscle, until day break. In the morning as he was 
about leaving I gave him a small piece of pork and a few 
beans, at which he seemed much pleased, as he said, ‘‘ Me 
honest Nitchee, me pay you, me bring venison.” (I believe | 
he gave the Indian name for deer, which I have forgotten). 
“All right,” said I, ‘‘If you kill a deer bring us a saddle, 
but when will you do it?” He stepped out of the door of 
the shanty and looking up through the tree tops to the sky 
beyond, he held up four fingers and made a motion of the 
sun passing over our heads four times. ‘‘ Why,” said ib 
‘““If you area good hunter you ought to killa deer under 
four days.” He replied ‘‘Craunch, craunch, he march 
on.” That was beyond our interpretation, until after he 
had gone Pierce and I studied it out. There was at that 
time a crust on the snow, which was about two feet deep 
in the woods, and by ‘‘craunch” he meant it would be so 
noisy that the deer would hear him before he could get 
near enough for a shot, and ‘‘march on,” “ thatis get up 
and get.” And sure enough, on the fourth the weather 
moderated in the morning, and there came on about an 
hour’s snow, making from two to four inches on the old 
crust—a splendid chance for a still hunt. About four 
¢’clock in the afternoon, while cutting wood just outside 
the camp, something struck down close at my feet. and a 
curious guttural laugh struck my ears, and there iay a fine 
saddle of venison and before me was my Indian. ‘Me 
tole you, me tole you,” and heseemed happy enough that 
he had redeemed his promise. 
We had many interviews after that. I visited his wig- 
wam, which I found to be ample and well made of bark 
and skins stretched over poles in circular form. It was 
most warmly fitted up within with wolf and bear robes on 
thick beds of boughs and leaves, and there must have been 
over $500 worth (a large sum then) of furs, consisting of 
marten, mink and muskrat, with now and then an otter or 
take a fly, put on something they will take; and it was in- 



FOREST AND STREAM. 
a fisherskin hanging to the poles. And there Isaw the 
“old squaw, young squaw, and three pappoose,” his 
wife, his mother, (or mother-in-law, I couldn’t tell which, 
she was homely enough for the latter), and three little red- 
skins as naked as when they first came into the world. 
It seems that this Indian was a chief of one of the tribes 
that inhabited the northern portion of the State, either a 
Pottawattamie, Winnnebago, or Menomenee, I have forgot- 
ten which. They are probably all, or nearly all gone now. 
He was in the habit of leaving his tribe every fall, and 
with his family took to the woods; and on the banks of 
some stream far in the wilderness he would gather a goodly 
quantity of furs to be squandered in nicknacks and ‘‘scut- 
tawauboo” during the first of the summer season, leaving 
him as poor as ever again in the fall. Poor redskin! 
Whiteman’s fire-water has probably done for you long be- 
fore now, as it has for many others. But he was as good 
and fine a specimen of the genus Nitchee as I ever met. 


Peace to his ashes! Ge 
ot 
SIX-POUND TROUT, 
ee 
EpiTor oF Forest AND STREAM:— 
My six-pounder was a genuine Salmo Fontinalis, or 
speckled brook Trout, and was caught in the Mooselucma- 
guntic Lake, Maine, twenty miles from the Canada border. 
It was in the early part of June, and the snow had hardly 
left the ground, when our merry party started for camp to 
throw care aside for two brief weeks, and enjoy inthe 
depths of the woods that stimulant which nature seems so 
ready to impart. As wejourneyed over the road on one 
fine morning, Mounts Saddleback and Abraham stood out 
in their brightest livery, while up and down their rugged 
sides were patches of snow, and from a bank by the road- 
side we had the audacity to form balls and return to our 
younger days of snow-balling. 
To be suddenly transported from a State where trout 
weighing a quarter of an ounce are looked upon as gold 
dust, to aregion where they average from one to two pounds 
each, was a little too much for my senses, and I really had 
to shake myself occasionally to know whether I was in the 
body or out of the body. It really seemed like the realiza- 
tion of my boyish dreams of the ‘‘Indian’s happy hunting 
grounds.” As I started out with my guide the last morn- 
ing of my vacation, a fellow angler suggested that if I was 
going out to the lake to troll (I had fished mostly in the 
brooks which emptied into the lake) I had better take a 
heavier rod, my eight ounce split bamboo fly rod being too 
light for that purpose. 
We were soon at the mouth of the river and upon the 
placid waters of the lake. It was a lovely morning, and ag 
the mist drifted off the surface of the lake, away to the 
north loomed up that finest shaped mountain in these parts 
—Mt. Kennebago—while on our right in each other’s good 
company, lay Mts. Iscohos, Deer, and Observatory. Away 
to the western horizon was the pride of New England, the 
“White Hills,” the distance producing that elegant purple 
so peculiar to mountain scenery, which was shaded by the 
different ranges from purple to blue, and then to the green 
of the nearer mountains, making a scene to be enjoyed with- 
out trout thrown in to heighten its color. We fished with 
live minnows at that time of the season, it being too early 
for flies, although strange to relate, no one dared even to 
whisper bait from New York tocamp; but after a few days’ 
unsuccessful trial, how quickly and how naturally they all 
took to it. Ibelieve with Mr. Prime, that if trout will not 
tensely interesting to see our noted fly jlshermen changing 
gaudy flies for sombre-colored minnows, when their re- 
peated casts failed to produce even a rise, while some one 
in the next boat was meeting with the best of luck by using 
bait. Mooselucmaguntic Lake (a person wants a hard cold 
to pronounce it to perfection) is twelve miles long and 
about three miles wide, one of the Androscoggin chain, 
one of the iargest, I believe, and certainly the most beau- 
tiful. It was under the shadows of old Bald Mountain, 
which lies to the northeast of the lake, that I first felt that 
magic pull that went like an electric thrill to the ends of 
my fingers. I had been trolling with about one hundred 
and twenty-five feet of line, and had caught a few small 
trout from a half to one pound each, but had about de- 
cided that my last would be the poorest of all the days. 
You are apt to get a little careless when trolling for some 
time without success. In fact, I was.so interested in the 
landscape that I had just returned my fly-book to my 
pocket, having made a rough hasty sketch of the White 
Mountains which were in full view. Just then a trout 
struck and aroused me from my reveries. Before I had re- 
covered from the first shock another followed, until I had 
no doubt of the quality of my game. Then all was quiet 
again, and wondering what had happened I gently reeled 
up afew feet of the line, mv euide remarking that he 
thought I had lost him. But I very soon discovered that 
it was not so, but that his lordship had taken the matter in 
to hisown hands and was heading directly for the boat, 
thinking, as I suppose, that our shadow in the water was a 
lone reck under whose protection he might find rest. Fora 
while it was about an even chance whether the line could 
be gathered on to my repeating reel as fast as the fish 
dropped the slack of itin the water, for it was with the 
greatest difficulty I could retain a consciousness of the fish. 
But finally, after a hundred feet of the line had been 
stowed away on the reel and twenty-five feet only remained, 
the trout became motionless as a rock. Now came the 
time to see which should be master. Nervously I held him, 
expecting some new freak would start him the next mo- 




131 

ment, and I had not long to wait, for the next instant he 
shot like an arrow for under the boat. 
“Quick! guide, quick!” Ishouted, and with a sudden dip 
of the paddle we shot out into the lake, the trout coming 
up on the other side of us, but not in a way he most de- 
sired. Before I had recovered sufficiently from this move- 
ment he plunged for the bottom. I endeavored to check 
him by ‘“‘giving him the but,” but it was of no use, for in 
less time than it has taken to tell it, [had lost fifty feet of line 
and he was not.contented even with that. Slowly again I 
reeled him in, foot by foot, inch by inch, and drew him so 
near that I could see his entire length. Guide said “he 
would weigh hard on to four and a half pounds, but never 
having caught a trout weighing over two and a quarter 
pounds, I did not offer my opinion. Backwards and for- 
wards I swayed the giant until four feet of my single gut 
leader showed itself above the water, and I could see the 
mottled sides of the trout, and in my anticipation he was as 
good as mine. With head down and his caudal appendage 
moving slowly backwards and forwards, he lay, stubborn 
and obstinate. My guide dropped a stone into the landing 
net to keep it in the right position, and slipped it over- 
board, but his majesty was not so fagged out as we had an- 
ticipated, for with another tug at the line he sought the 
bottom, doubling in this way again and again, one moment 
seeming to be mine and the next knocking over all my air 
castles by running fifty feet away. Finally, finding all ef- 
forts to get free were useless, he came again to the surface 
and with a dexterous movement of the net he was safely 
landed in the boat. Quickly seizing my scales I held him 
up to my guide’s admiring gaze. Immediately the indica- 
tor marked siz pounds, and passing around his body a cord 
he measured fourteen inches at the dorsal fin and twenty- 
five and a half inches in length. Looking at my watch, 
just twenty-six minutes had been spent in his capture. As 
he lay there in the net still heaving with excitement, his 
sides spotted with gold and rubies, his gills distended, and 
his dark fins edged with snowy white, to say that I was 
happy would but tell half the story, for such an experi- 


ence is but one of a life time. TS." 8: 
Che GHlagazines. 
——_—+___. 
ALBANIAN CHARACTERISTICS. —In Albania vendettas 
never gease. Itis no exaggeration to state that they require 
three thousand victims every year. The word djak means 
both blood and a quarrel, and is an integral portion of Al- 
banian small talk, and converse with whom you may in 
this blessed country it is ever in the people’s mouths. This 
constant familiarity with blood and strife has turned the 
Albanian into a manof iron and steel. I suppose one rea- 
son why Albanians are so dreaded, is because they value 
their own lives at nothing at all, and the worth of other 
people’s lives at even less. Of course it is by no means 
pleasant to have such a race of people as your enemy. [ 
think next to them as to utter recklessness of life come the 
Montenegrins, only I must confess there isa difference. 
The Montenegrin has some dim perception of what he 
wants todie for. It may be some vague notions about his 
religion, bis country, or his freedom. The Albanian, I am 
obliged to say, fights about nothing at all, and simply for 
the love of it. There is also another point of difference be- 
tween them. When an Albanian goes into a fight he 
dresses himself up in all his best clothes. He is a mass of 
glistening arms, gold and fine embroidery; the Montene- 
erin, when ready for the fray, puts on his back his oldest 
coat. He is clever enough to know, though he may not val- 
ue his life,that it is sheer stupidity to get killed in handsome 
clothes. This calculation on the part of the Montenegrin 
may not be thought exactly heroic, but, in my poor estima- 
tion, it elevates him just a trifle higher in the social scale. 
—G. Lejean, Tour du Monde. 
So 
THE Own TuHar Looxep Like THurtow.—An amusin 
anecdote is told in connection with one of the Arunde 
owls. On one occasion, at a dinner at Arundel Castle, the 
butler caused great merriment by coming into the room 
and saying ina solemn voice; ‘May it please your Grace, 
Lord Thurlow has laid an egg.” The late Duke of Norfolk 
was asked if the story was true. His Grace said, ‘‘Y es, 
we have always believed it in the family; but do you know 
why the bird was called Lord Thurlow? That’s almost the 
best part of the story. Lord Thurlow and _ his daughter 
were once staying at the castle, and the young lady went 
to see the owls. On passing one of them she stopped sud- 
denly and exclaimed: ‘Oh! how like papa!’ and the bird 
was ever afterwards called Lord Thurlow.” It must have 
been a very wise looking bird, for Lord Thurlow looked 
exceptionally wise, even for a judge. Fox, the statesman, 
once said; ‘‘I suppose no man ever was so wise as Thur- 
low looks,” 
$$$ 
How Louris XVI Went Ovur Ssootme.—When the 
king went out shooting all the surtowts or pages had to be 
at the meet. They took off their coats, and put on little 
vests of blue drill, and leather gaiters, and each bearing a 
gun, they kept behind the prince, who, after firing, took 
another gun, while the empty one was passed from hand to 
hand to the armorer to load. Meanwhile the first page 
had the game picked up, and kept an exact account ina 
little note-book; and as soon as the sport was over, he 
went to the king’s study to take orders for its distribution. 
It may be well supposed that this was a very pleasant post; 
besides the advantage of having a special work to do for 
the king, like a little minister, the first page gota good 
many for himself, as Louis XVI. every day that he went 
out, killed some four or five hundred head. They also.re- 
ceived a dozen bottles of champagne on these occasions. 
eS Oo 
—Mr. Covill says a looking-glass affords a woman a marve- 
lous amount of comfort and gratification. He says his wife 
thinks just as much of consulting her glass when she ties 
on her apron, as when she tries on her bonnet. He says 
that when there isa knock at the door, he goes there at 
once, but his wife ejaculates—‘‘Mercy Joseph, who's. 
that?” and dashes for the looking glass the first thing. 
