CHAPTER III.

HOME APPETITE.

Before the month’s journey was completed, I found I could leap falls and rapids more safely than in a birch-bark canoe, and although I often paid for my audacity by cutting its surface, it was easily sewed, waterproofed, and I continued my way. On account of its convenient construction and weight it could be easily transported through the woods to the small bodies of water off our main course, and explorations made not accessible to a birch canoe.

CAMP APPETITE.

As we were to pass through a country uninhabited we were obliged to provide ourselves from the start with food sufficient for the entire thirty days’ sojourn, and it may be interesting to the reader to know the quantity and variety of the supplies, should he ever undertake asimilar enterprise. We did not rely upon the game or fish of the country we were canoeing; like excursions in the past had taught us that these articles were more incidental surprises, than an excess of the daily menu. Very few tourists to Maine select this, thehardest of routes, and we found, afterwards, that we were thefirst party who had passed down the East Branch of the Penobscot river during the year 1879. A “camp appetite” is something entirely different from what one enjoys at home. One would turn in aversion from the plainness of the fare were it placed on the table. But the surroundings and the daily vigorous exercise seem to make one forget the homely dishes, and articles refused at our own boards are devoured in the woods with avidity. Most of the provisions were packed into wooden pails of various sizes, the balance in canvas bags, and were assorted as follows: thirty-four pounds of hard tack or bread, seventy-three pounds of flour, one bushel of potatoes, twelve pounds of salt pork, four pounds of beans, two packages of baking powders, two and one half pounds of cheese, ten pounds of ham, three pounds of candles, one bottle each of pickles and chow-chow, three cans of potted ham, seven and three-fourths pounds of onions, twelve pounds of canned corned beef, six pounds of maple sugar, one dozen cans of condensed milk, three pounds of tea, seven pounds of coffee, and thirteen pounds of granulated sugar, besides a quart of oil for our lantern, which latter article was one of the most useful of the lot. Sugar, either maple or granulated, always disappears in the woods at an early date, and the immense quantities of luscious blueberries and blackberries to be had at any time along our route greatly facilitated its departure.

MORRIS’S NORTHEAST CARRY.

Our canoes, when packed with all the above articles, and further embellished by sundry tea and coffee pots, kettles, frying-pans, broilers, bakers, tin plates and cups, reminded one of the early days of our forefathers and their pilgrimages to the “far west.” The country towards which we had set our faces was entirely new to tourists, and but one of our guides (Weller) had ever exploredits hidden depths, and even his memory was so treacherous as to be of little service to us. Recently issued maps were faulty, and we were obliged to make many corrections on them and manufacture the geography as we sailed along. On reaching the head of Moosehead Lake our many boxes and bags, just enumerated, were transferred to the sadly dilapidated wharf at the Northeast “carry,” and afterwards removed by the guides to a heavy lumber box wagon drawn by a single horse, while the birch canoes, supported by long poles, were lashed at the sides of the cart.

Our artist, to secure his photographic materials against harm, rode in front with the driver, but the writer, in company with the quartermaster and the guides, trudged along in the sand at the rear.

This “carry” or path is about two miles long, rising gradually towards the middle from each end, and terminates on the north at the West branch of the Penobscot river. There are log houses where one can obtain dinner at either end of this portage, but as our guide, Morris, lived at the further point, our party chose to lunch at his house, and our recollections of his mother’s preserved strawberries, fresh cream and bread are alive to this hour. After dinner we immediately betook ourselves to the river’s bank, launched the birch canoes, stretched thecanvas canoe into shape, and, balancing the crafts to a nicety with our baggage, swung off down the stream for a month’s exploration of the inmost heart of Maine.

IN SYMPATHY WITH NATURE.

One well knows the delights attending a picnic in the woods for a day—arising at early morn and carefullystowing away in baskets sundry choice and toothsome articles, and filling the corners of the basket with beautiful bright flowers from our gardens, we resorted to the woods and dividing into groups under the shady trees we spread on temporary tables the savory dishes, and strove to the best of our ability to get in sympathy with nature.[B]But think of a month’s picnicdailyfilled with excitement and pleasure, from running rapids and falls in a canoe to enticing the wary trout, or picking strange flowers and berries by the brookside, and at night resting one’s tired but invigorated body under a snow white tent!

The west branch of the Penobscot (or Rocky) river, after leaving the terminus of the Northeast “carry” at Morris’s, flows steadily to the southeast with hardly a ripple for some two miles until it reaches the mouth of Lobster stream; then a stronger current is perceptible with “rips,” and this continues for two and a half miles more, when after passing a small island the water again becomes “dead.” The birch barks, paddled by guides Weller and Morris, preceded us down the river, while the quartermaster and I followed in the canvas canoe, the fourth canoe with Guide Bowley and the artist bringing up the rear.

[B]If I ever write another book I think I shall eschewsentiment. I thought at the time that “sympathy with nature” was very good, but I find that it has been thrown away on at least one—the artist. T. S. S.

Could there have been a looker-on from the shore, he would possibly have thought it was a government expedition in search of the “northeast passage;” but although our destination was about as little frequented it was not so grave an affair.

After paddling until late in the afternoon through eight or ten miles of still water we made our first camp on the right bank of the river, at the mouth of Moosehorn stream, and transferring our “kit” to the shore turned over our canoes in the sun to dry.

DISCOURAGEMENTS.

“CHANGING PASTURE.”

“Within the sun-lit forest,Our roof the bright blue sky,Where streamlets flow, and wild flowers blow,We lift our hearts on high.”

“Within the sun-lit forest,

Our roof the bright blue sky,

Where streamlets flow, and wild flowers blow,

We lift our hearts on high.”

OUR FIRST CAMP AT MOUTH OF MOOSEHORN STREAM.—ACCOMMODATING ONE’S SELF TO CIRCUMSTANCES.—THE “RIPS” OF THE WEST BRANCH.—RUNNING THE RAPIDS.—PINE STREAM FALLS.—CHESUNCOOK LAKE.—UMBAZOOKSUS RIVER.—A “BEAR” WELCOME.—MUD POND AND “CARRY.”—A PICTURE DIFFICULT TO PHOTOGRAPH.—THIRD CAMP ON CHAMBERLIN LAKE.

descriptionof our first camp in the woods will acquaint the reader with the arrangement of the many after, and make him familiar with the picture of our daily surroundings.

Our wall tent, ten by twelve feet, was soon unfolded, and, selecting a prominent point of the high bank whichcommanded the river, we immediately set about cutting the three necessary poles on which to erect it. We trimmed all projecting twigs from the ridge and front upright poles, but left them on the rear one that we might make it useful—on which to hang cups, belts, candlesticks, and lantern. Here the quartermaster’s whittling propensity came in use, and another pole was notched by him and pressed into service beside the last, which served as a rack for our guns and rods. Great care was taken that the notches which held the ridge-pole were not too long, or they would tear the tent, and that the angle of the roof should accommodate any passing shower. Then we cut short pins from the white birches, and with the ropes at the sides soon drew the tent into position.

PENKNIFE SOUVENIRS.

While Bowley, our cook, was making bread and coffee, trying salt pork and trout for our evening repast, the resounding blows of Weller’s axe could be heard in the forest, gathering logs for the camp-fire, and Morris was cutting fir boughs for the historic camp bed. It is wonderful how comfortable a bed this makes, while its delightful health-giving odor is so invigorating to thesystem. Our table outside the tent was usually made of four forked sticks on which we put others crosswise, and on these we laid splits of wood, and for seats rolled into position a convenient log, or used the many wooden pails containing our provisions. On rainy days we sat on the ground in the tent, and used these pails of various sizes and heights as our “extension table,” smiling to think how easily we could conform to any condition in the woods. At the head of the tent a choice position was given to our photographer’s camera and chemicals, together with our traveling-bags, rifles, cartridge-boxes, and books, while at our feet were distributed the pails of provisions, and heavier part of our “kit.” About one and a half feet was allowed to each man for sleeping accommodations, animaginaryline only dividing off the guides, we being arranged somewhat similar to sardines in a box, only our heads were all in one direction.

Immediately after leaving camp the next morning we entered the “rips” or rough water of the river. For about ten miles there was little necessity of paddling, the velocity of the stream sweeping us along without extra effort. These last few miles were very exciting, as, following in the wake of the birch canoes, we guided our canvas craft past boulders and sunken rocks, while the guides, constantly on the alert for our welfare, shoutedor waved their hands to warn us of dangerous places. Passing close to the bank on the left of the boisterous water, we shot the Pine Stream Falls and soon rested in the foamy waters below, where our artist at once immortalized the party.

Pine Stream Falls

The amount of strength and activity displayed by the guides in handling their canoes past falls and rapids is astonishing. With their slender “setting poles,” elevenfeet in length, armed at one end with a sharp iron spike of six inches, they will steer the canoe with unerring certainty, or hold it quivering in waters that would seem to engulf it.

A hasty lunch, and we soon reached the mouth of the West Branch (eighteen miles from the North East carry), where a scene of special beauty burst upon us in the white capped waves of Chesuncook Lake and distant view of Mt. Katahdin and the Sourdnahunk range. Paddling across the head of Chesuncook Lake, which is seventeen miles in length and three miles in width, we passed the mouth of the Caucomgomoc stream and entered the Umbazooksus River. We had hardly recovered from the exertion in crossing the lake, when we espied in the tall meadow grass on the bank of the stream a large black bear, who, standing on his hind legs, nodded an approving welcome. The quickness with which he dropped on his four feet and plunged into the thicket gave us little opportunity to return the compliment with our rifles.

MUD POND CARRY.

Another camp, and the next day we passed in safety the Umbazooksus stream and lake, and at 8A. M.arrived at the long dreaded Mud Pond “carry.” This path through the woods to Mud Pond is a little over two miles long, and is detested by tourists and execrated by the guides. Many weeks before my departure for Maine, I had beenaccosted by a friend (who had made the St. Johns trip), and asked to give him on my return the full particulars of my experience on this “carry.” I was not, therefore, taken by surprise, but was prepared to meet it manfully on its own ground, and fight the battle to the best of my ability. I had provided myself for this special undertakingwith long rubber wading pants or stockings, reaching to my hips, and further incased my feet in a heavy pair of canvas hob-nailed shoes, the latter I also found useful in wading streams. Even while selecting our provisions at the Kineo House, this and that luxury had been debated upon, or withdrawn as an article too heavy for transportation on Mud Pond “carry.” Its obstacles to our senses had also been made prominent by the daily conversation of the guides, and our imagination of that “gulf” greatly awakened. On reaching the portage, the canoes were drawn ashore, turned over to dry, goods removed, and, each one selecting what he could support, we started off “Indian file” to make the best of the difficulties. On the right-hand side of the path, within a few rods of the Umbazooksus Lake, will be found a cool and refreshing spring of water, at which we quenched our thirst. At first the path was dry, and only occasional pools of water, easily turned, interrupted our advance; but soon the pools grew thicker and thicker, lengthening to greater extent than before, and, with our loads on our backs, we plunged forward, sinking time and time again to our knees in the soft muddy water. It makes a vast deal of difference, the nature and position of the load on one’s back, and whether it is steady in its place, or has a shiftingpropensity. I have known a pair of oars dodging about on one’s shoulders to be heavier and more inconvenient than five times that burden in guns and ammunition. I had selected as the task for my left shoulder my shot gun, and attaching to it a broiler, coffee-pot, gridiron, and other impedimenta of camp and cooking utensils, detailed to the right a bag of two hundred shot and rifle cartridges. Picture not only one but six men so loaded, forcing their way through the muddy path, slipping and floundering, first on one side and then on the other, under the conglomerated load of “camp kit.” An opening in the dark hot woods half way across, and our burdens are lowered to the ground, to return to the lake for another cargo. A lunch, and on we go another mile, where the branches lock closer and closer about us, making our load seem double its weight, until with joy we discover from a slight elevation at the end of the “carry” the tranquil surface of Mud Pond. A portion of this course is evidently at some seasons of the year the bed of a brook, and the writer found in a small isolated pool of water only a foot square, a lively trout, four inches in length.

MUD POND—LOOKING EAST FROM END OF CARRY.

Our guides told how, during some months of the year, they had dragged their boats two-thirds of the way across, remarking that the only “dry” partthisyear, was thetemperate way in which they were treated.[C]The canoes on the guides’ shoulders were the last loads to cross, and, as it was now 6P. M., one can make some estimate of the work done, seeing we had only accomplishedtwo milesthat day.

[C]The use of ardent spirits in the woods ought never to be allowed by either sportsmen or guides. There is enough stimulant and health in the pure air, the piney woods, and clear cold water of the streams, to satisfy any one, while the indulgence often places the sportsman’s life in jeopardy. The awkward turn of the paddle in swift water, or the careless handling of a gun by your partially intoxicated guide, may at any moment bring disaster to your canoe or death to yourself, while the selection of a guide shouldalwaysbe a matter of the greatest importance, as he has the faculty of making your camp-life happy or miserable. A friend of the author started to camp in the Adirondacks sometime since, but discovering in his guide’s “kit” a bottle of liquor, and, being unable to obtain the refusal of its use, took the fellow a three days’ tramp back to the settlement, and hired another guide, rather than take his chances with the first one. Scientific analysis has long since exploded thehealth giving propertiesof ardent spirits, and in Arctic explorations the line has been drawn between the vitality of men who drank water or coffee. As regards using stimulants in the woods, I say in the language of Mark Twain—“don’t!DON’T!!DON’T!!!”

“This is the way I long have soughtAnd mourned because I found it not.”

“This is the way I long have sought

And mourned because I found it not.”

Launching our canoes on Mud Pond, some two miles in width, of uninteresting scenery, we bent our remaining energies to the reciprocating paddle, and were soon on the other side, and canoeing the sluggish waters of Mud Pond stream. Its mouth was clogged by great weather-beaten logs, which necessitated the laborious use of our axes before forcing a passage into Chamberlin Lake. The sun was hardly half an hour above the horizon, as wecrossed this beautiful lake two and a half miles to the opposite shore, and camped on its white pebbly beach at the foot of a farm. This was the only one of three habitations which we saw on our trip, and the delight which we experienced was as great as the recovery of a lost trail in the woods by the tourist mentioned in the following incident. A brother angler, while treading a lonesome path in this very neighborhood, found one day a piece of birch bark nailed to a tree on which was inscribed these familiar lines—

“This is the way I long have soughtAnd mourned because I found it not.”

“This is the way I long have sought

And mourned because I found it not.”

REFLECTIONS.

“On the fair face of Nature let us muse,And dream by lapsing streams and drooping wood;Tread the dark forests whose primeval ranksSince the Creation dawn have cast their shade.”

“On the fair face of Nature let us muse,

And dream by lapsing streams and drooping wood;

Tread the dark forests whose primeval ranks

Since the Creation dawn have cast their shade.”

CHAMBERLIN FARM AND LAKE.—A NOVEL FLY-TRAP.—A LESSON IN NATURAL HISTORY.—TELOSMIS LAKE.—THE “CUT.”—A THREE DAYS’ RAIN STORM.—WEBSTER LAKE AND DAM.—AN APPARITION.—THE WEIRD STILLNESS OF THE PRIMEVAL FORESTS.—AN ACCOMMODATING FLY-CATCHER.

hamberlinfarmconsists of one log house, eight or ten barns, and about three hundred acres of cleared land, if where in some portions you can jump from stump to stump can be called “cleared land.”

CHAMBERLIN FARM AND LAKE—LOOKING WEST.

The buildings are situated on a hill fronting the lake, and command a view of the greater part of the water. Mr. Nutting (who with his three sons has charge of the farm) is six feet high, straight as an Indian, with heavyhigh cheek bones, black moustache, and whose face is thoroughly tanned by exposure to the sun. The farm, with others in this vicinity, is owned by Messrs. Coe & Pingree of Bangor, Maine, who possess vast tracts of this wilderness, which they lumber and pass the result of their efforts to the markets along the coast of the State. During the summer months the products of the farm are gathered into the barns, and are used to feed the hundreds of “log drivers” who in the winter and spring are annually sent to this region. These “loggers” are a hardy set of men, receiving a dollar and a half a day when “on the drive,” and work from 2A. M.to 10P. M., often exposed to great perils and the inclemency of the weather. Large herds of cattle and sheep are pastured here, and on the hill at the rear of the house I noticed a number of mules.

THE ROOM INTO WHICH WE WERE USHERED.

CAMP ON CHAMBERLIN LAKE.

The two-story log house in which resides Mr. Nutting is painted an Indian red, and has the only embellishment of any of the buildings. The interior is white-washed, and has three rooms on a floor. The room into which our party was ushered had low ceilings of heavy logs, blackened by age and smoke from the big square ironstove which held undisputable possession of the center of the apartment. In one corner was a great box containing wood, which also served as a bed when other accommodations were not available. From the ceiling, hardly seven feet high, was arranged the clothes line, on which hung a portion of the week’s washing, while the floor was made of logs with enough openings between them to admit plenty of fresh air. Artistic taste had not been wanting in the decoration of the log walls, and engravings cut from illustrated papers were tacked thereon, while in a prominent position was hung the portrait of a late unsuccessful candidate to presidential honors. Rough shelves nailed to the sides of the walls between two windows supported a roll of old papers, a Webster’s dictionary, National fifth reader, Greenleaf’s arithmetic, Bible, and Testament, while at their side hung a mirror, and the family hair-brush and comb. But the most novel article in the room was a fly-trap, which, although it displayed the inventive genius of the locality, can hardly have its model on the many shelves of the Patent office. This fly-trap hung from the ceiling near the stove, and was manufactured from two shingles fastened together at the butts like an inverted V. On the inside was spread molasses, and as fast as the insects became interestedin its sweets, it was the duty of the passer-by to slap the boards together and destroy their contents.

NOT FOUND AT THE PATENT OFFICE.

In addition to superintending this farm and stock, it is the duty of Mr. Nutting to provide for the various logging camps in the neighborhood, and to watch for the first indication of fires, whose destructive power in the pine forests he fully realizes.

Chamberlin Lake, on which we had pitched our tent, is fifteen miles long and three miles wide. It has an area of twenty square miles, is 1,134 feet above tide water, contains a number of islands, and took its name from an unfortunate man lost some years since on its shores. Years ago a large dam was built at its northern outlet into Eagle Lake, and the water driven back south, through an artificial cut between Telos and Webster Lakes, thus enabling the lumberman to “drive” his logs to a home market through the East Branch of the Penobscot river, instead ofby the St. Johns route to the foreign one of New Brunswick. It costs fifty dollars a ton to transport supplies to this farm, and flour is nineteen dollars a barrel.

A STUDY IN NATURAL HISTORY.

After our labors on Mud Pond “carry,” we rested here three days, taking photographs of the scenery, and making excursions to the dams between Chamberlin and Eagle Lakes, where we found plenty of exercise for our trout rods. We also “sacked” our canvas canoe across the hills on the east to Indian Pond in search of wild ducks and trout, but were only rewarded by a study in natural history which seldom happens to the forest lover. Our discovery was a family of loons, or the great Northern Diver, a bird the size of a goose, and the finest on inland northern waters. It could be honestly said, “they lived in flats,” as their rough nest, composed of sticks and moss a foot in height and two feet in width, rested on a flat sandy knoll which stretched out into the water. Against the unmistakable dislike of the parent birds, I paddled to the front door of their house, and, gazing in, discovered a recently hatched bird and one egg.

TELOS CUT AND LAKE.

The egg was dark brown, spotted with black, eight and seven-eighth inches at the longest, and seven and one-quarter at the shortest circumference. The young bird had every appearance of a goslin, with down of a grayish black, and did not seem in the least annoyed as I stroked its glossy coat. Withdrawing my canoe, and creeping quietly back into the thicket, I enjoyed the lesson in frogcatching, taught the young one by the old birds, and I left them undisturbed in their happiness.

It was with great reluctance that we broke camp early on the morning of August 12th, rolled our tent, and, arranging our kit in the canoe, paddled out into Chamberlin Lake and bade farewell to the scenes around which clustered so many pleasant memories.

The fresh milk, butter, and eggs of the farm were a happy relief to our regular fare of salt pork and hard tack, while the fresh straw, which Mr. Nutting so kindly offered us from his barns, for the floor of our tent, added greatly to our comfort.

But we had not started with the idea that in this wilderness we were to enjoy all thedaintiesof life, for in order to explore its depths we must give up luxuries and comforts which at home seem indispensable.

How often in my earlier years, while pursuing the study of geography at school, did my pencil in drawing maps wander over this endless tract of territory to the north and east of Moosehead Lake, striving to picture to my imagination its elements.

This great lake near the center of the State, together with few of the largest rivers whose source then seemed a doubt, were about all that relieved the picture, and I wasdaily discovering new beauties of scenery little known to the outside world.

“A land of streams! Some, like a downward smoke,Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;And some through wavering lights and shadows broke,Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.”

“A land of streams! Some, like a downward smoke,

Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;

And some through wavering lights and shadows broke,

Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.”

Through the long stretches of deep water of Chamberlin Lake we paddled, keeping time with our oars, while on our right arose the peaks of the lovely Sourdnahunk Mountains, each individualized by the bright rays of the morning sun.

Entering Telosmis Lake, which is about a mile in extent, we sailed swiftly through its quiet waters and passed into Telos Lake, where, at the mouth of a brook on the right hand, we were successful in landing a fine lot of trout which averaged over a pound each.

THE “WET AND DRY PROCESS” OF PHOTOGRAPHY ASILLUSTRATED BY CAMP LIFE.

Telos Lake is four miles long and about half a mile wide, and is nine hundred and fourteen feet above tide water, its northern shore rocky and abrupt, in comparison with the sandy and uninteresting nature of its south coast. The mouth of the canal or “cut” at its foot is clogged with immense quantities of flood-wood, old logs, and stumps, bleached to whiteness by the action of the weather, which give it a weird and ghostly appearance against the background of verdure. This “cut” wasdug by lumbermen some forty years ago, to pass their logs into the East Branch of the Penobscot, but below the old dam, quarter of a mile distant, one would never suspect by its natural and picturesque shore it was the work of men’s hands, the force of water having relieved its sharp outlines.

While our artist was preparing his camera for a photograph of the “cut” and lake, our guides “sacked” their burdens and canoes across thechevaux-de-friseof old stumps into the “cut,” and we pitched our fourth camp on the high bank to the right of the old Telos dam.

Although we had been out fourteen days, we had so far been very fortunate regarding the weather, but we here experienced the first rain-storm of the trip—a genuine northeaster of three days’ duration. We had hardly raised our tent and got our “kit” under cover before the watery contents of the heavens began to descend, and we took extra precautions to make ourselves comfortable and endure the trial in the most cheerful spirit possible. But I will not detain the reader with every item of the three days’ imprisonment. Encased in our waterproofs, we resorted to the dam, caught trout, or wandered beside the waters of Telos stream for ducks and partridges, giving little heed to the elements.

TELOS DAM AND RIVER.

It is amazing how little one makes of discomforts in the woods, provided he sympathizes with his surroundings. But to a nature having neither poetry nor romance, to whom a fall is only a suggestion of water power, and a tree so many feet of lumber, the situation is unendurable.

Here our canvas boat was overhauled, cuts sewed and waterproofed, birch canoes pitched, buttons adjusted to our clothing, socks darned, guns and rifles cleaned, while the “Quartermaster” busied himself ingeniously carving pliers, scissors, and vises from wood, cutting the joints of the same piece as souvenirs of the locality.

But the storm had one good effect; it nearly exhausted the moose and bear stories of the guides, and left them, in the future, only the current topics of the day to discuss.

So far the days had been exceedingly warm,—thermometer sixty to seventy in the shade,—but what was our surprise on arising early on the clear bright day of August 16th to discover a heavy frost, and the ice in our camp pails an eighth of an inch in thickness. We were first aware of the event by the exclamations of our cook, Bowley, who was slipping about on the frozen ground outside, and to our incredulous replies, lifted into the door of the tent one of the frozen pails by the tin dipperwhich adhered to its surface. The tent was quickly “struck” and dried, and, rolling into our rubber blankets and bags our effects, we were cutting the waters of Telos stream, and soon emerged into tranquil Webster lake at its foot. The brook is about a mile long, and very shallow, and but for the late rain would hardly have been navigable. An easy “carry” of a mile can be found through the tall grass and woods on the right-hand side, which also terminates at the head of the lake.

It is very essential to one’s happiness, in making this tour, to know on which side of the stream is the best portage around a fall or rapids, for the knowledge saves many a laborious walk when one’s shoulders are loaded.

Webster lake is a charming little sheet of water about three miles long, and perhaps half as wide, which is wooded down to its very edge. At its foot is another of those series of loggers’ dams, about twelve feet high, and on the extreme high bank to the right we again pitched our tent.

Great care had to be taken with our fires along the road, that not a remnant of them be allowed to remain, and the indications are often very delusive. Many years ago a fire started in the woods on Eagle lake, and the devouring flames, sweeping southward over fifty miles to this section, destroyed this dam which has since been rebuilt.

AN APPARITION.

There are many decayed and deceptive logs about these old dams, some even a foot in diameter, which at a slight pressure will crumble and plunge one into the deep water below—I speak from experience.

A bear story is always welcomed in camp, not only on account of the truthfulness attending thefirstone, but the doubts which hover around the succeeding tales, add to their interest.

We stretched the canvas of our tent at this place, and while each one was engaged in his various duties, Weller, the guide, pail in hand, sallied out for fresh spring water. He had hardly disappeared from our sight, when with immense jumps he came tearing back through the bushes shouting, a bear! a bear! A rush for our rifles, and a forward movement into the woods. But after an unsuccessful tramp, the she bear and two cubs seen by our friend could not be found.

Before we left the wilderness, we had the unspeakable pleasure of making the acquaintance of somesixbears; but on every occasion we were without our rifles, and when we made an effort to hunt them, they were not to be found. We were either shooting a quick flowing stream, and with difficulty keeping our canoes from the rocks, or surprised by meeting them (as in the abovecase) nearer to camp than one could expect, when they suddenly appeared.

Webster Lake Dam.

A few years since, Maine offered a bounty of ten dollars a head on bears, and the hunting or trapping of them was a lucrative pastime, but since the withdrawal of thepremium, hunters have decreased in the same proportion that bears have increased.

As might be expected, around the camp fire that night, the recent experience suggested hunter’s tales, each having its special locality and party designated, who witnessed the exploits, while the habits, courage, and peculiarities of bruin and other animals were discussed to an unlimited extent.

One of the stories told by Guide Morris related to a tame beaver which had grown to be a great household pet of a farmer living in the vicinity of Moosehead lake. One night a defective faucet filled the farmer’s sink and overflowed to the floor of the kitchen, whereupon the beaver, following his natural instincts, cut up the chairs and tables of the room, and building a dam about the fugitive stream saved the habitation from further injury!

We tarried three days at Webster dam, where we captured the largest trout of the excursion, and feasted on many a fine duck and partridge.

To impress the reader with the idea that our table fare was not so hard as might have been expected, I would state that the items of the daily menu consisted of fried brook trout, boiled potatoes, stewed duck or partridge, hard-tack, “flip-jacks,” with maple sugar, coffee, and tea. Fish chowders and game stews were ourfavorite dishes, all eaten with the seasoning of a hearty appetite.

FLY CATCHERS VERSUS FLY FISHING.

At this point we were probably as deep in this wilderness as it was possible to get in the trip.

The most striking feature of the forests is the absenceof animal life, and more noticeable in our northern than southern wilds. The stately pines of the South stand from eight to twelve feet apart, and with a span of horses one can almost drive from one end of Florida to the other. In fact, the writer, in the winter of 1875, met a party so equipped, traveling in an open wagon from New Smyrna to Fort Capron, choosing their way by the compass’ aid. This open condition of things permits the rank growth of vegetation and animal life, which the close-locked branches of our northern forests prevent. In the latter case, also, the continual sifting of the pine leaves on the ground, and the gloom of the overhanging boughs choke what few shrubs might have an existence.

Only along the rivers, or where the woodsman has failed to spare some tree, dare anything but a courageous blackberry or shrub-maple show itself. You may wander for hours in this stillness without seeing a living creature, unless you look sharply enough to mark the insects which toil in the mosses underfoot, inhabit the bark and decayed wood, or wait for you to rest before settling on you.

But we occasionally entertained strangers of animal life, and in one instance, that of an “angelic” order—at least it had wings, and its mission was helpful. Our artist, while casting his line from the apron of the dam,caught it on a projecting beam, and after vain attempts to withdraw it, was successfully assisted by a little brown fly-catcher, who, swooping down, attempted to carry to its nest the bright-colored artificial trout flies.

ALLUREMENTS.

STUDY OF TROUT—BY THE AUTHOR.

“What time the golden sunset fell,On wood and stream,While we, the loss or gainRecount, and deemThe day all glorious with its rents and stains.”

“What time the golden sunset fell,

On wood and stream,

While we, the loss or gain

Recount, and deem

The day all glorious with its rents and stains.”

THE PASSAGE OF WEBSTER STREAM.—AN EXCITING DAY’S SPORT.—THE DAMAGED CANOES.—THE CANVAS BOAT TRIUMPHANT.—GRAND FALLS.—PHOTOGRAPHING ALONG THE ROUTE.—INDIAN CARRY.—EAST BRANCH OF THE PENOBSCOT.—MATAGAMONSIS LAKE.—THE DISCOVERY OF A NEW LAKE.—TROUT BROOK FARM.—GRAND OR MATAGAMON LAKE.—A CAPTURED SALMON.

T5.30A. M., August 20th, our camp was alive with preparations for the long anticipated run down Webster River, ten miles, to the East Branch of the Penobscot and, as it afterwards proved, was the most exciting day’s experience of the two hundred mile tour.

Blankets, overcoats, and tent were rolled closer thanusual, and leather thongs five feet in length, (some three dozen of which I had brought with me,) were tied about them, and safely crowded into the bottom of the long rubber bags. Covers to the various provision boxes and pails were secured with straps and ropes, and every part of the camp kit made to occupy as little room as possible in the four canoes. Rubber leggings and wading shoes were put on, and all unnecessary wearing apparel wrapped in rubber blankets and tied to the boats, that nothing might incommode the free use of our arms in the passage of the falls and cascades of the stream. The stretcher of our canvas boat was fastened to the wooden knees more tightly with thongs, that no possible chance of accident might occur, while the pieces of extra canvas for patching the canoe, with their accompanying needles, wax, and waterproofing, were tied at a convenient place in the bow, and before we had completed the day’s adventures we found them of great service.

Webster stream is about sixty feet wide, and in its course from the lake of the same name to Grand Falls (two miles above its mouth), descends one hundred and ten feet, while the falls, including the rolling dam and cataract below, make the entire distance to the East Branch of the Penobscot not far short of one hundred and seventy feet.

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