

Por Forest and Stream. 
iN CAMP. 
pS ee 
LOW down the mist the dying sun 
‘\) Drops to his crimson bed, 
And sad, wierd voices of the night 
Lament the day as dead. 
The moon climbs up above the hill, 
In golden garments bright, 
And marks the ripples on the lake 
In lines of silver light. 
Amid the trees strange shadows glide 
Around our flickering fire, 
Going and coming as the flame 
Falls low or rises higher. 
Like sentinels above our camp, 
The shattered hemlocks stand, 
Gray warders, who a hundred years 
“ Have looked o’er lake and land. 
And softly through the silence comes 
The outlet’s distant roar, 
And mingles with the rippling waves, 
Along the sandy shore. 
One flashing spark, the fading fire 
Throws up, and then is dead, 
While forest breezes soft and cool, 
Blow o’er the hunter’s bed. Fern Fry. 


AMONG THE ADIRONDACKS. 
ee pe ee 
SUNRISE ON LITTLE TUPPER’S LAKE.—A DEER HUNT AT ROCK 
POND.—CHASE AFTER A BUCK. 
ele Ds 
Eprror Forest AND STREAM :— 
One day last September, just as the gray dawn was break- 
ing in the east, and before objects became barely discerna- 
ple, [awoke and throwing my blanket aside sprang from 
my hemlock boughs, and pushed back the folds of the tent 
and stepped out into the morning air. Tlow wondrously 
calm was all nature! So peaceful and quiet had been her 
slumbers here in the wilderness that night. The wind but 
barely stirred the leaves, the wavelets lapped the shore 
at our feet witha soft rippling sound, and across the waters 
in a path of silversheen the moonbeams danced, while the 
moon, full orbed rose right royally from behind the dark 
sides of old Buck mountain, and held court with her 
bright starry satelites over forest and stream. Soon the 
scene shifts. From the heavens the morning star, so lately 
sparkling like gold, is withdrawing its lustre, and the dark 
of the morn is becoming a pale gray, and surrounding ob- 
jects are becoming visible; a warm pink flush suffuses the 
east; higher it mounts, and the day is fairly breaking. 
Our camp is now astir. The guides begin to gather logs; 
the axe soon divides them; some splinters are whittled, and 
soon a bright, cheerful flame is dancing through the fuel. 
The water is soon boiling, the coffee is made, and with 
some cold biscuits and fried potatoes, we despatch our 
breakfast, and then unchaining our hounds we enter tae 
boats and are once more dancing over the rippling waters 
of Little Tuppers toward its head, where a party encamped 
there are to join usin our hunt. The sun ha: risen above 
the mountains and is flooding the forest world with glory, 
painting with purple and gold cloud and mountain, and 
running around their edges golden lines, while others glow 
with crimson fire; and through this floating sea of clouds 
gleam all the colors of the rainbow. Such a mass of fan- 
tastic shapes, such changing hues, and yet so beautiful! IT 
would that [had my paints and brushes with me that I 
might hastily sketch this wondrous scene, this most rare 
cloud effect in sunrise. But no, on we must push as 
the sooner we get our dogs started the better, and I turn 
my back to the glorious cloud palace, with its jewelled 
lines, and feel the breath of the fresh, pure morning blow- 
ing in my face, as our Saranac boat is swiftly propelled 
over the water by the strong arms of Hank, my trusty 
guide. How sparkle the waters, a ruby tint upon each 
wavelet! How liquid and transparent they appear in the 
morning glow! Up towards the head a fog bank lies cold 
and gray, its upper edges bathed in faint coral hue. On 
we dash, and as we round Watch Island we find the wind 
freshening, and out toward yonder point the waves are be- 
ginning todash. ‘‘We’ll have a windy day, and I rayther 
guess we'll get some rain.” I glance at the heavens as 
Hank speaks, and find the clouds gathering and fast losing 
their bright, gleaming colors, while those of violet, salmon 
and gray are taking their places, and over to our right 
spanning the sky is painted a rainbow, and the old_saying 
comes to mind, ‘‘rainbow in the morning is the sailor’s 
warning.” The loons are flying, and their clarion call echoes 
like a bugle blast from mountain to mountain. ‘That ere 
wind’s risin’ fast; and sure enough Hank’s words proved 
true, for in afew moments we had hard work to make 
headway against the combing, crested waves. On we pull 
off from the lee shore, and upon rounding the point at the 
head, see lowering ina dark gray mass, far over Smith’s 
Lake, a shower. 
Reaching the other camp, we find them all astir and 
ready. ‘‘Well, boys,” says Pliny, ‘‘we had better wait 
awhile till we see whether it’s going to rain or not; ‘taint 
no use for me to put out the dogsif ’tis.’ And we wait; 
and now the rain drops patter on the water which has be- 
come quite tranquil, breaking the surface with myriad 
white spots; and now the cloud is passing to the westward, 
and through flying clouds we catch glimpses of the blue 
sky. ‘Well, I guess we'll try it;” and as the rain has 
ceased two boats start for Smith’s Lake and Charley Pond, 
another for Salmon Lake, while the other two go one to 
Rock Pond and the other to the island near the inlet of the 
Jake, I also am to watch Rock Pond, and taking the dogs, 

_ FOREST AND STREAM, 
we start, Hank steps into the boat with me, and off we 
go up the inlet. Pliny meanwhile takes the other dogs 
and plunges to the west of the camp. Rowing along up 
the reed fringed hanks of the stream, we breathe in great 
draughts of the pure, fresh air, and gaze with delight upon 
the deep amber waters in which is reflected as in a mirror 
the long brakes and ferns, sky and clouds. The broad 
leayes of the hilly lie floating on its bosom, upon which 
lay contentedly here and there some frog or huge dragon 
fly, the former blinking at us comically as we pass, the lat- 
ter waving its wings to and fro glistening in the sunlight. 
From the bushes of the mountain ash with its scarlet 
berries, from the showy stems of the golden rod, and from 
reeds and rushes so brightly emerald, drip the crystal rain- 
drops, glistening like pearls in the bright beams. ‘‘Look 
there, Hank; just see how the deer travelled through here 
last night,” I exclaim, as inthe mud and sand all around us 
are seen the prints. ‘‘The shore is cut up like a sheep pas- 
ture.” ‘‘Golly,” says Hank, ‘‘aint that an all-fired big fel- 
ler that made that there huge track; as big as an ox.” 
The lilly pads were broken off where they had fed, and the 
bushes beaten down all around. The streain is very crook- 
ed and narrow and shallow, except here and there where 
at a bend lies a dark pool, where the trout love to lie. We 
at last arrive at the ‘‘carry,” and Hank and I shoulder the 
boat and contents, and walk over it, and we did it without 
aslip or stumble over the old gnarled roots and rough 
stones that obstructed our path. Launching the boat again 
in the stream, we put off, now running upon some sunken 
log, now grating over a concealed rock, tugging and pull- 
ing, we at last emerge into Rock Pond, a beautiful sheet of 
water with an island almost in its centre. I row to my 
watch ground on the point near the outlet, thus command- 
ing a view of the Pond and the “‘runway” near the carry. 
Away down toward the westward, near the outlet of Sal- 
mon Lake, upon a small rock fies the boat of H. and his 
guide, a mere speck. Farther on, a mass of purple haze, 
loom the mountains of the lake, while all around is a cor- 
don of forest primeval. The red man has disappeared, as 
also the solitude-loving moose and beaver. By the far back 
lakes they still exist with the wolf and panther; the two 
latter, with the bear, make a tour now and then to this 
region. 
The pond now lies quite calm, ‘‘the calm before the 
storm,” as afar over the woods is heard the hoarse murmur 
of the wind, like the roar of the sea, and out to the west 
the mountains are hid from view by a thin gray veil, as the 
rain comes steadily on; and now the island is shut from 
sight, and the patter of the rain over the trees and water 
sounds like the foam of some distant cascade. ‘‘Ough! 
this is pleasant,” I exclaim, as the storm comes down upon 
me, wetting me through. I wrap my rubber blanket as 
closely around me asI can. ‘‘Hope they haven’t started 
the dogs yet.” How dismal now is the scene; everything 
gray and leaden; but I think it nothing more than a shower, 
still it comes down fast, and I have to stand and take it. 
Ah, there it a streak of blue sky again, to the west. Not 
so bad a day after all. And the wind lulls, and the rain 
ceases to patter, though all around me is wet and drippiug. 
I thrown off my bla: ket and brush the water from my rifle, 
and—ah, isn’t that a dog? Away tothe north I hear a faint 
hum like a bee. I listen. Another hum; and another and 
another. Fast it booms and nearer. Ah, sweet music! 
and now the deep voices of the hounds are heard ringing 
out clearly on the mountain not two miles away. Nearer 
and nearer. The chase is warmer as they open out quick- 
er. Now look out, sharp. The deer may be in the Jake 
any minute. I await with breathless expectation, the 
blood coursing quick and hot through me. Ah! <A bound 
in the bush, a crash, and into the pond leaps a large doe. 
Icrouch down to let her swim out far enough to cut her 
off. Her ears are working back and forward; she swims 
out but a few yards, turns, and makes for shore again. I 
ran through the woods towards the spot which she is mak- 
ing for, in order to frighten her out again, as I desired to 
make her swim out to H., after [ got into my boat, which 
I could easily do, as he was very desirous of killing his 
deer, and I had killed two old does already in the past few 
days; but though Tran with all my might she was ashore 
before I arrived, and we met almost face to face. Witha 
bound like lightning she dashes by me on the beach. I fire, 
but itis like shooting at a rocket, and I miss, and she is out 
of sight across the point. J take along breath and wish I 
had fired at her at once while she was in the water. But 
no matter; ‘‘make the best of it.” And now come down 
the dogs hot and fierce. I call them; ‘‘here, Spot, here 
Drive,” and show them where the deer came ashore; but 
no use; they think the deer swam into the lake, and will 
not follow. And now, crashing through the brush, comes 
Hank, and he hastily inquires where the deer went in, and 
he tries to put the dogs on the track, but no use. ‘‘Durn 
the dogs,” says he, “‘that’s all-fired mean.” I jump upon 
my watch ground and look over the pond. What is that 
swimming out there by the island! <A blatk speck! Is it 
moving? Yes. ‘‘By Jove, Hank, there’s another deer?” 
To make sure, I level my field glasses upoz. it. Hank seizes 
them and says, ‘‘where?” and looks through them quickly, 
and with a ‘‘by goll, so it is; get into the boat quick,” we 
dash out, and though the distance is about a mile anda 
half, we overhaul him fast. ‘‘Why don’t they start out 
from the island,” (meaning H. and his guide,) I exclaim, as 
they are seen standing upon it watching us, apparently 
wondering what we are rowing so fast across the lake for. 
“Don’t see the deer,” says Hank. The perspiration rolls 
from his forehead as he pulls with all his might, and we 
dash swiftly along. ‘‘A big buck,” I cry, and Hank re 

plies, ‘Guess it’s the same buck I put Watch after up in 
the slash.” Andnow we near him; truly a big fellow, with 
a fine pair of antlers. ‘Just the one I have been looking 
for the past two weeks; how splendidly he will look mount - 
ed for a hat rack in my hall, eh, Hank? Can’t let H. have 
him anyhow; if twas a doe ’twould be a different thing.”’ 
~ Now the buck sees us and makes for the point he is near, 
(and which I was afraid he would reach before we started 
ashe was heading for it.) ‘‘Faster, Hank,” I yell, “‘he’ll 
get ashore,” and Hank tugs faster, the water flies, the oar 
blades bend, and the boat fairly jumps along.” Ah, the 
deer is turning from the point; he sces he cannot reach it, 
and makes for the marsh. We near him; he turns again 
for the Island; around again goes our boat. Ah, there 
comes H., his guide rowing with all his might; but he can’t. 
overtake us, and the deer is ours, for the law of the woods. 
is ‘‘who kills the deer to him it belongs,” and’so we dash 
alongside. What a splendid big neck. ‘‘Hold, Hank; keep: 
the boat steady,” I say, and aim at his back jnst below the 
neck. I fire, but on he keeps. I fire a little higher. ‘‘He’s 
a tough old fellow; shoot him through the neck,” says 
Hank, and I put another cartridge in and aim and fire. I 
send the ball through his neck, his head falls over and he is 
ours. We tow him ashore, and it as much as we two wisly 
to do to drag him on the rocks. ‘‘A buster; an old chap; 
will weigh 200 sure.” ‘‘I’m satisfied,” I replied. ‘‘Ah, 
there is Watch down at the runway where the buck came 
in.” A white spot is <een across the leke in the slang or 
marsh, and we row across and take him, and call him, 
‘‘oood dog, good fellow, and rowing back to our watch 
ground, we built a fire, and each taking off his clothes, 
while the other watches, dry them and feel better. 
The afternoon wears away. Now and then, afar off 
toward Salmon and Smith’s Lakes, we heard the notes of the 
hounds, waking the woods with their music, and once the 
chase came so near we were all expectation to see the deer 
enter the lake; but presently it winds, and off up towards 
Salmon Lake it dies in the distance; and after waiting an 
hour or so longer, until near five o'clock, we enter onr 
boat and with our game and hounds find it heavily weighted. 
We reach camp after dark, hungry and tired, but pleased 
with our day’s hunt. And so go the days, happy ones, full 
of golden hours, but we must soon turn our faces home- . 
ward, after painting a few more scenes to show my friends 
glimpses of this wondrous forest world up here in the Adi- 
rondacks. C. C. MarKHAmM. 
St oo 
HONK! HONK! HONK! 
eg ee 
CHINCOTEAQUE IsLAND, Dec’r 19th, 1875. 
Eprror Forest AND STREAM:— : 
I had been stopping for several days with Mr. Griffin, ir 
Accomac county, Virginia, awaiting Jake’s coming, and 
was somewhat annoyed at my gunner’s delay in not turn- 
ingup. However, on the 3d of this month, near the cot- 
ton field at the end of the garden, I heard honk! honk! 
honk! and rushing to theghouse for my gun, was making 
for the open fields near the shore, when who should I 
meet but my stalwart gunner; Jake, in person. My first 
question was, ‘‘are there any geese yet at Chincoteague, 
Jake?” His reply was reassuring to a degree. ‘‘Yes, sah; 
lots of ’em; my boat is on the creek, and by the feel of the 
wind, I’spose we might make Chincoteague to-night.” I 
was somewhat doubtful in regard to the weather, not relish- 
ing exactly a thirteen mile sail in a cranky boat of a stormy 
evening, but on Jake’s assuring me that he ‘‘was bound to 
do it under three hours, if I didn’t mind getting jess a 
littie wet now and then,” I put on my water-proof, took 
my two guns, blankets and valise, and consigned myself to 
Jake’s care. One hour out in the bay, I had rather good 
reasons for regretting my voyage. The wind blew from 
the northwest, ‘‘a good wind for geese,” as Jake remarked, 
“but a mighty unsartain one for folks in a boat.” The 
water broke over our craft repeatedly, the spray driving 
with stinging violence against my face, though thanks to 
my water proof, my body was perfectly dry. The gun 
cases I had lashed under the thwarts, and the ammunition, 
being in the for’castle hole, I knew would not be damaged. 
The wind came in so strong that Jake reefed close, but in- 
stead of three hours it was nearer seven hours before we 
made Wallop’s Island. A few hundred yards back of the 
inlet, on a point, I was welcomed by one of Jake’s colored 
friends. In fact I found every preparation made for me. 
No sooner had I thrown off my wet wraps than supper was 
announced, and a glorious one was it. Imprimis, a brant 
stuffed with persimmons; secondly, a slice of baked drum- 
fish, some fried spod; lastly, a roasted coon with sweet po- 
tatoes, all flanked with flapjacks andcorn pone. How will 
this do for a Chincoteague supper? But gunners always do 
live on the fat of the land, providing they can accommo- 
date themselves to circumstances. In the present case 
Jake and I were old friends. With these colored people 
of the better class, for Jake had been the body servant of 
an excellent master before the war, mouey was no object. 
What Jake wanted was to be treated with that respect — 
which he was entitled to, and which he fully merited for 
his faithfulness and honesty, not counting his sportsman- 
like ability. Jake’s invariable price is $3,00 a day, includ- 
ing stools. 
I turned in and haca comfortable night. Next morning 
Iwas up at daybreak, it wanting about an hour to flood 
tide. Isaiah, Jake’s friend, had four live geese stools and ten 
pairs of decoys. They have no blinds at Chincoteague; we 
therefore made the boat the blind, easily accomplished by 
nailing cedar brush, some two and a half feet high all 
around thejboat. The live geese stools were arranged on a 
platform of wood, a kind of raft, a piece of leather with 


