A Birthday Supper.
Flambeau Farm was located on the right bank of Chippewa River opposite
the mouth of Flambeau River. There old man Butler kept a ranch for the
especial accommodation of lumbermen and land hunters, who included
nearly everyone who came that way. It was at the end of the wagon road
leading from Chippewa Falls and from other civilized places. Canoes,
dugouts, batteaus--all started from Butler's ranch at Flambeau Farm for
operations up the Flambeau and its tributaries, or for either up or down
the Chippewa and its branches.
One rainy afternoon in October our party of three started from Butler's
ranch in a dugout (a long, narrow canoe hewn out of a pine tree), to
pole down the Chippewa River to the mouth of Jump River, a distance of
about ten miles. Notwithstanding the rain, everything went smoothly for
the first hour, when, without warning, the bow of the canoe struck the
edge of a sand bar which caused the tottlish craft to tip. The man in
the stern jumped overboard to save it from capsizing, expecting to
strike his feet on the sand bar, but, in the meantime, the frail craft
had drifted away from the bar, and we were floating over deep water
which resulted in our comrade's disappearing under the surface. He soon
rose hatless, and with a few strokes swam to where he seized the stern
of the boat to which he was obliged to cling until we could paddle to
the shore, as any attempt on his part to have climbed in would have
resulted in capsizing the boat, and would have cost us all of our
supplies.
We built a fire, and partly dried his wet garments, after which we
proceeded on our journey. Entering the mouth of Jump River, we flushed a
small flock of wild geese, one of which we shot and gathered into our
dugout. A little farther on, we were fortunate in bringing down a fine
mallard. By this time the snow had begun to fall very rapidly, so that
when we had reached a suitable place to camp for the night, the snow was
fully three inches deep. Here, near the bank of the river, we found an
unoccupied claim shanty built of logs, and containing a very serviceable
fireplace. We took possession of it for the night, in consequence of
which it was unnecessary to pitch our tents. We began the usual
preparations for our evening meal and for comfortable beds upon which to
lie. The latter were soon prepared by going outside into a thicket of
balsam fir trees, felling a few with our axes, and breaking off the
soft, springy boughs which were stacked in bunches, carried into camp,
and spread in the convenient bunks to constitute the mattresses over
which the blankets were later laid.
[Illustration: "I found several families of Indians camping at the end
of the portage." (Page 106.)]
While thus busy, an Indian hunter clad in a buckskin suit came down the
trail by the river bank, bringing with him a saddle of venison. Owing to
the Indian's natural fondness for pork, it was very easy to exchange a
small piece of the latter for some nice venison steaks. I remember that
because of the wet condition of the snow, the Indian's buckskin pants
had become saturated with water, causing them to elongate to such an
extent that he was literally walking on the bottom ends of them. His
wigwam was not far down the river, to which point he soon repaired. Then
the cook made a short calculation of the menu he would serve us for our
supper after the very disagreeable experiences of travel during the day.
He decided to broil the mallard and cook some venison steak. Besides
this, he boiled rice, some potatoes, some dried peaches, and baked a few
tins of baking powder biscuits.
The land hunter's or surveyor's outfit of cooking utensils invariably
includes a nest of tin pails or kettles of different sizes fitted one
within the other, and sufficient in number to supply the needs of the
camp; also a tin baker, so constructed that when set up before an open
fire, it is a tilted "V" shaped trough of sufficient length to place
within it a good sized baking tin, placed horizontally and supported
midway between the two sides of the "V" shaped baker, so that the fire
is reflected on the bright tin equally above the baking pan and below
it.
The snow had ceased falling, and, by building a rousing camp fire
outside of the claim shanty, we were soon able to dry our clothing.
Having partaken of a sumptuous meal, we "rolled in", contented and
happy, for a night's rest. To me, this 14th day of October was a red
letter day, and in memory ever since has been because it was the
birthday of my then fiancée, who, not many years subsequent, became and
ever since has remained my faithful and loving wife.
The second and final trip of that season in open water was made several
weeks later when we again poled up the Chippewa River in a dugout,
taking with us our supplies for the cruise in the forest.
The current in that part of the river was so swift, not infrequently
forming rapids, that we were obliged always to use long poles made from
small spruce trees from which the bark had been removed, and an iron
spike fastened at one end to aid in securing a hold when pushed down
among the rocks. The water was so nearly at the freezing point that
small flakes of ice were floating, and the atmosphere was so cold, that,
as the pole was lifted from the water, ice would form on it unless the
pole at each stroke was reversed, thus allowing the film of ice formed
on the pole to be thawed when immersed in the slightly warmer water
beneath. The day spent in this manner was attended with very great
discomfort, and when night came, each man found himself tired and
hungry, and glad that the day had come to an end. We camped that night
at a French-Canadian logging camp. Our party was too fatigued to pitch
its own tents and prepare its own meal, and gladly accepted the
foreman's hospitality at the rate of two dollars a day each, for some of
his fat pork, pea soup, and fairly good bread.
On the morning following, we found the ice had so formed in the river
that further journeying in the dugout was impossible, so the latter was
pulled up on shore, covered with some brush, and abandoned, at least for
the winter, and, as it proved in this instance, for always, so far as
it concerned our party. We finished this cruise on foot, and returned
about two weeks later to Eau Claire.
There were not many men living on government lands in that part of
Wisconsin. Those who had taken claims and were living on them depended
on their rifles for all of their fresh meat. Some of them made a
practice of placing "set guns" pointing across deer trails. One end of a
strong cord was first fastened to a tree, or to a stake driven into the
ground some distance from the deer trail. The cord was then carried
across the trail which was in the snow, for a distance of one hundred
feet or less. Here, the gun was set firmly, pointing directly in line
with the cord or string. The barrel of the gun was sighted at such an
elevation as to send the bullet, when fired, across the deer trail at a
height from the trail sufficient to penetrate the body of the deer. The
string was then carried around some stationary object and fastened to
the trigger of the gun, the hammer of which had been raised. The
pressure of the deer's body or legs against the string would be pretty
sure to discharge the gun, thus causing the innocent and unsuspecting
deer to shoot itself.
While running a compass line one day, we discovered, just ahead of us, a
cord or string at right angles to our line of travel. I stopped
immediately, while my companion, Tom Carney, followed the cord to its
end which he found fastened to the trigger of a rifle. He carefully cut
the cord, raised the rifle to his shoulder, and fired it into the air.
He next broke the gun over the roots of a tree. Further examination
showed that the cord was stretched across a deer trail which we would
have reached in a minute more.
With the return of winter the Sage-Patrick contract was about
completed.