A JOLLY TIME FOR THE DEER--HUNTING ON THE WATER BY DAYLIGHT--MUD LAKE
FUNEREAL SCENERY--A NEW WAY OF TAKING RABBITS--THE NEGRO AND THE
MARINO BUCK--A COLLISION.
As we came down to the lake in the morning to perform our ablations,
we saw a fine deer on the opposite shore, feeding upon the pond lilies
that grew along in the shallow water. It was nearly half a mile from
us, and while we were looking at it, four others came walking
carelessly out of the tall grass upon the beach, and commenced
playing, as we have seen lambs do, on the sandy shore. They would run
here and there, back and forth, at full speed along the sands, leap
high into the air, kicking up their heels, and performing all the
various antics of which animals so supple and active may be supposed
capable. We saw one fellow leap, with a clear bound, over two that
were standing looking out over the water, and run some fifty rods up
the beach, as if all the hounds in Christendom were at his tail, and
then wheel gracefully, and return with equal speed to his companions,
when they all commenced jumping and bounding, and running up and down
along the shore, as if they were out on a regular spree, and were
determined to be jolly. After half an hour of exceedingly active play,
they hoisted their white flags, and went bounding over the meadow into
the woods.
The deer that was feeding paid no further attention to them than to
raise his head and look quietly, and perhaps contemptuously at them
occasionally, while he chewed his breakfast, that he was picking up in
the shape of lily pads upon the surface of the water. Spalding and a
boatman paddled across the lake to make Mm a morning call. It is a
curious fact that one skilled in the art will paddle or scull one of
these light boats to within a few rods of a deer while feeding, in
plain open sight, provided always that the wind blows _from_ the
direction of the animal, and no noise is made by the boatman. The deer
will feed on, and the time for paddling is while his head is down.
When he raises it to look about him, in whatever position the boatman
is, he must remain immovable. If his paddle is up, it must remain so;
not a motion must be made, or the game will be off, with a snort and a
rush, for the shore and the woods. The deer may, and probably will
look, with a vacant stare, directly at the approaching boat without
its curiosity being in the least excited, and then go to feeding
again. The marksman must take his aim while the game is feeding; when
it raises its head high in the air, throws forward its ears and gazes
at him for a moment with a wild and startled look, then is his time to
fire. Five seconds at the longest is all that is allowed him when he
sees these motions, for within that time, with its fears thoroughly
aroused, the game will be plunging for the shelter of the woods.
The boatman paddled Spalding quietly and silently to within twelve or
fifteen rods of the deer that was feeding, when a column of white
smoke shot suddenly up from the bow of the boat; the sharp crack of
the rifle rung out over the water, and the deer went down. Spalding
was a proud man as he returned to us with a fine fat spike buck in
his boat.
These little lakes are probably sixty-five miles from the settlements,
allowing for the winding course of the rivers. Just above, where the
river enters, is a dam, built of logs some fifteen feet high, erected
by the lumbermen the last winter to hold back the water, so as to
float their logs down from this to Tupper's Lake, and so on down the
Rackett to the mills away below. Around this dam is the last carrying
place between this and Mud Lake, over which our boatmen trudged with
their boats, like great turtles with their shells upon their backs.
This is still called Bog River, and though above the dam to Mud Lake,
where it takes its rise, it is deep and sluggish, yet it is doing it
honor overmuch to dignify it by the name of a river. It was large
enough, however, to float our little craft. We left our baggage-master
here with most of our luggage, to perfect his operations in the way
of jerking venison, intending to return the next day. We might have
left everything without a guard, so far as human depredations were
concerned. No bolts or bars would be necessary for its protection. In
the first place, nobody would visit the spot, and if they did, our
property would be perfectly protected by the law of the woods. It
would be doubtless carefully inspected by any curious banter passing
that way, but theft or robbery are unknown here. True, a bottle of
good liquor, if handled by a visitor, might lose somewhat of its
contents, but it would be drank to the health of the owner, and in a
spirit of good fellowship, and not of theft, all which would be
regarded by woodsmen as strictly within rule, there being, as Hank
Wood said, "no law agin it."
We left the first chain of ponds, and rowed some ten miles up the deep
and sluggish but narrow channel of the river, startling every little
way a deer from its propriety by our presence as it was feeding along
the shore. Few sportsmen ever visit this remote region, and it is
above the range of the lumbermen. We came to some rapids near the
outlet of the second chain of ponds, around which we walked, and up
which the boatmen pushed their little craft. These rapids are a
quarter of a mile in length, with no great amount of fall, but still
enough to prevent the passage up them of a loaded boat. Directly at
the head of these rapids is the "second chain of ponds," three
pleasant little lakelets, of from two to four hundred acres each,
surrounded by dense forests, and shores in the main walled in by huge
boulders and broken rocks. We passed through these, in which were
several loons, or great northern divers, quietly floating, and as they
watched us, sending forth their clear and clarion voices over the
water. We took each a passing shot at them, but with no other effect
than to make them dive quicker and deeper, and stay under longer than
usual; at the flash of our rifles they would go down, and in a few
minutes would be again on the surface sixty rods from us, laughing
aloud, as it were, with their clear and quavering voices, at our
impotent attempts to shoot them.
We left the "second chain of ponds" by the narrow and sluggish inlets,
still the Bog River, here so small that the boatman's oars spanned the
narrow channel, and as crooked a stream as it is possible for one to
be. It flows for miles through a low and marshy region, with dense
alderbushes clustering along the shore, and scattering fir-trees, dead
at the top, standing between these and the forests in the background.
The bottom, much of the way, is of clean yellow sand, in which are
imbedded millions of clams, resembling, in every respect, those of the
ocean beach. Some of these we opened, and found the living bivalves in
appearance precisely like their kindred of the salt water. I have seen
occasionally muscle shells in other streams, and along the shores of
the lakes, but I never before saw any such as these save near the
ocean, where the salt water ebbs and flows, and not even there in such
quantities. One might gather barrels and barrels of them, large and
apparently fat, and yet there would be hundreds or thousands of
barrels left. The mink, the muskrat, and other animals that hunt
along the water, and have a taste for fish, have a good time of it
among them, for we saw bushels of shells in places where the fish had
been extracted and devoured.
We arrived at Mud Lake towards evening, and pitched our tent on a
little rise of ground on the north side, a few rods back from the
lake, among a cluster of spruce and balsam, and surrounded by a dense
growth of laurel and high whortleberry bushes. We saw a deer
occasionally on our route, and the banks of the stream in many places
were trodden up by them like the entrance to a sheep-fold. Why this
sheet of water should be called Mud Lake is a mystery, for though
gloomy enough in every other respect, its bed is of sand, and it is
surrounded by a sandy beach from fifteen to forty feet wide. It is
perhaps four miles in circumference, its waters generally shallow, and
so covered with pond lilies, and skirted with wild grass, as to form
the most luxuriant pasture for the deer and moose to be found in all
this region. Of all the lakes I have visited in these northern wilds,
this is the most gloomy. Indeed it is the only one that does not wear
a cheerful and pleasant aspect. It seems to be the highest water in
this portion of the wilderness, lying, as one of our boatmen
expressed it, "up on the top of the house." In only one direction
could any higher land be seen, and that was a low hill on the
western shore, not exceeding fifty feet in height. There are no
tall mountain peaks reaching their heads towards the clouds,
overlooking the waters; no ranges stretching away into the distance;
no gorges or spreading valleys; no sloping hillsides, giving back the
sunlight, or along which gigantic shadows of the drifting clouds
float. All around it are fir, and tamarac, and spruce of a stinted and
slender growth, dead at the top, and with lichens and moss hanging
down in sad and draggled festoons from their desolate branches. It is,
in truth, a gloomy place, typical of desolation, which it is well to
see once, but which no one will desire to visit a second time. We
noticed on the sandy beach tracks of the wolf, the panther, the moose,
and in one place the huge track of a bear. He must have been of
monstrous growth, judging by the impression of his great feet and
claws in the sand. But we saw none of these animals, and so gloomy is
the place, so sepulchral, such an air of desolation all around, that
it brings over the mind a strong feeling of sadness and gloom, and we
resolved not to tarry beyond the nest morning, even for the chance of
taking a moose, a panther, or a bear.
We pitched our tent, as I said, a little way back from the lake, near
a cold spring, that came boiling up through the white sand in a little
basin, eight feet wide, the bottom of which, like that on the bank of
Tupper's Lake, was all in commotion, boiling and bubbling, as the
water forced its way up through it. I was in the forward boat as we
approached the lake, and was surprised to see the number of deer
feeding upon the lily pads in the shallow water, and the wild grass
that grew along the shore. Some stood midside in the water, some with
only the line of their backs and heads above it. Some were close
along the shore, feeding upon the grass that grew there. Others still
were nibbling at the leaves of the moosewood upon the bank, and one
large buck stood by the side of a fir tree, rubbing his neck up and
down against it, as if scratching himself against its rough bark. We
had not been discovered, and waited for the other boats to arrive.
Great was the astonishment of my companions, when they saw the number
of deer that were feeding in this little lake. Neither of them had
ever seen the like, nor had I, save on one occasion, and that was in a
small lake, the name of which I have forgotten, lying a few miles
beyond the head of the Upper Saranac.
"You see that clump of low balsam trees on that point yonder," said my
boatman, as we lay upon our oars, pointing in the direction indicated.
"Well, from that spot, three years ago, I shot a moose out upon the
bar there, as it was feeding upon the lily pads and flag grass.
"I had heard from an old Indian hunter, about this lake, and the
abundance of game to be found here, and I made up my mind to see it.
So another hunter and myself agreed to come up here in July, and take
a look at matters, and find out whether the old copperhead told the
truth or not. We started about the middle of July, with our rifles and
provisions for a fortnight, and came up. We saw any quantity of deer
on the way. On the second chain of ponds, we saw, as we were rowing
along, a large panther walk out on to the top of a great boulder, and
look around, lashing his sides with his long tail, and then sit down
on his haunches with his tail curled around his feet, just as you've
seen a cat do. He was too far off for us to shoot him, and he saw us
before we got within proper distance, and stole away into the woods,
and we passed on. As we rounded the point just below the lake there,
and looked out upon the broad water, I saw the moose I spoke of,
feeding. We sat perfectly still, and permitted the boat to drift back
down the stream until we were out of sight. We then landed, and I
crept carefully and silently to that clump of fir trees. I had my own
and my companion's rifle both properly loaded. Having got a right
position, I sighted for a vital part, and fired. The animal rushed
furiously forward two or three rods, with its head lowered as if
making a lunge at an enemy, then stopped, and looked all around,
standing with its back humped up, and its short stump of a tail
working and writhing at a furious rate. I sighted it again with the
other rifle, and pulled. The animal plunged furiously for again for a
few rods, stopped a moment, and then settled slowly down, and fell
over on its side, dead. It was a cow-moose and would weigh as killed
five or six hundred pounds. I was a pretty proud man then, as that was
my first moose, and about as big feeling a chap as was Squire Smith
the other day, when he brought down that buck. I have shot two others
here since, one at each visit I have made."
The season for moose hunting along the water pastures, was nearly
over. They go back upon the hills in August, the food there being by
that time abundant. The tracks we saw were old ones, the animals
having passed there several days previously. I would not have it
supposed that the moose are abundant in any portion of this
wilderness. They have come to be few and far between, and exceedingly
wary at that. I could hear of none having been killed the present
season; but that there are some left, as well as bears, and wolves,
and panthers, the tracks we saw gave unmistakable evidence.
We saw no appearance of trout in this lake, or in the outlet of it
above the upper chain of ponds. The stream swarmed with chub and dace,
a rare circumstance with the streams of this region. Towards evening,
we saw numbers of little grey wood rabbits, hopping around among the
dense undergrowth on the ridge where our tents were situated,
squatting themselves down and cocking up their long ears, as they
paused occasionally to examine the strange visitors who had come among
them. They were very tame, not seeming to regard our presence as a
thing of much danger to them.
"Seeing those rabbits," remarked Smith, "reminds me of an anecdote of
my boyhood, which at the time occasioned me an amount of mortification
equalled only by the amusement it affords me, when I think of it in
after years. On my father's farm was a bush field, a place that had
been chopped and burned over, and then left to grow up with bushes,
making an excellent cover for wild wood rabbits. I had seen them
hopping about, when I went to turn away the cows in the morning, or
after them at night. I had a longing to 'make game' of them. I had a
brother a good deal older than myself, who was as fond of a joke as I
was of the rabbits, and who was quite as ready to make game of me, as
I was of them; so he told me, one day to put an apple on a stick over
their paths, high enough to be just above their reach, and a handful
of Scotch snuff on a dry leaf on the ground under it, and the rabbits,
while smelling for the apple, would inhale the snuff, and sneeze
themselves to death in no tune. Well, I was a child then and simple
enough to be gammoned by this rigmarole. I set the apple and the
snuff, but I got no rabbit, while I did get laughed at hugely for my
credulity. This satisfied me that people should never impose upon the
simplicity of childhood. I remember my mortification on the occasion.
It was so long ago that it stands out by itself, a mere fragment of
memory, with _all_ beyond it a blank, and a wide gap out this side. It
is an isolated fact, fixed in my recollection by the pain it
occasioned me."
"Your anecdote of the rabbits," said the Doctor, "reminds me of a
story told of a Dutchman, who discovered an owl on a limb above him,
and noticed that its face, and great round eyes, followed him always
as he walked around the tree, without its body moving at all. Seeing
this he concluded in his wisdom, that he would travel round the tree,
till the owl twisted its head off in watching him. So round and round
he went for an hour, and stopped only by having the conviction forced
upon his mind that the owl had a swivel in its neck."
"Strange," remarked Spalding, "how the hearing of one story reminds us
of another. I always admired the 'Arabian Nights,' because the stories
contained in that work hang together so like a string of onions, or a
braid of seed corn. The first is a sort of introduction to the second,
and the second an usher to the third, and so on through the whole. But
why the story of the Dutchman and the owl should remind me of another,
in which an old negro and a bellicose ram were the actors, is a matter
I do not pretend to understand, unless it be the extreme absurdity of
both. A gentleman of my acquaintance long ago (he was a middle-aged
man when I was a small boy. He was an upright and a good man. He has
gone to his rest, and sleeps in an honored grave, having upon the
simple stone above him no lying epitaph), had an old negro who
rejoiced in the name of Pompey, and a Merino buck, the latter a
valiant animal, that was ready to fight with anybody, or anything,
that crossed his path. Between him and the 'colored person,' was an
'eternal distinction,' an active and irreconcilable antagonism, that
developed itself on every possible occasion. The old Guinea man was
winnowing wheat one day, with an old-fashioned fan (did any of you
ever see one of these primitive machines for separating wheat from the
chaff, used by our fathers before the fanning mill was invented? It
was an ingenious contrivance, by which a man with a strong back and
of a strong constitution, could clean some twenty bushels in a single
day). While stooping over to fill his fan with unwinnowed grain, the
buck, taking advantage of his position, came like a catapult against
him, and sent him like a ball from a Paixhan gun, head foremost into
the chaff. Great was the astonishment, but greater the wrath of
Pompey, and dire the vengeance that he denounced against his
assailant. Gathering himself up, and rubbing the part battered by the
attack of his enemy, he retreated around the corner of the barn, and
procuring a rock weighing some twenty pounds, returned to the presence
of his foe, who was quietly eating the wheat that the negro had been
cleaning, evidently regarding it as the legitimate spoils of victory.
Getting down on all fours, and managing to hold the stone against his
head, Pompey challenged his enemy to combat. The buck, nothing loth,
drew back to a proper distance, and shutting both eyes, came like a
battering _ram_ against the stone on the other side of which was the
negro's head. As might have been expected, the challenger went one
way, and the challenged the other by the recoil, both knocked into
insensibility by the concussion. Pompey was taken up for dead, but his
wool and the thickness of his scull saved him. He gave the buck a wide
berth after that. He regarded him always with a sort of superstitious
awe, never being able to comprehend how he butted him through that big
stone. Explain the matter to him ever so scientifically, demonstrate
it on the clearest principles of mechanical philosophy, still Pompey
would shake his head, and as he walked away, would mutter to himself,
'de debbil helps dat ram, _sure_. Dere's no use in dis nigger's tryin'
to come round _him_. He's a witch, dat ram is, and ain't
nuffin else.'"