they were? In a moment the head of a real deer became outlined; then
his neck and foreshoulders; then his whole body. There he stood, up to
his knees in the water, gazing fixedly at us, apparently arrested in
the movement of putting his head down for a lily-pad, and evidently
thinking it was some new-fangled moon sporting about there. "Let him
have it," said my prompter,--and the crash came. There was a scuffle
in the water, and a plunge in the woods. "He's gone," said I. "Wait a
moment," said the guide, "and I will show you." Rapidly running the
canoe ashore, we sprang out, and holding the jack aloft, explored the
vicinity by its light. There, over the logs and brush, I caught the
glimmer of those luminous spots again. But, poor thing! There was
little need of the second shot, which was the unkindest cut of all,
for the deer had already fallen to the ground, and was fast expiring.
The success was but a very indifferent one, after all, as the victim
turned out to be only an old doe, upon whom maternal cares had
evidently worn heavily during the summer.
* * * * *
This mode of taking deer is very novel and strange. The animal is
evidently fascinated or bewildered. It does not appear to be
frightened, but as if overwhelmed with amazement, or under the
influence of some spell. It is not sufficiently master of the
situation to be sensible to fear, or to think of escape by flight; and
the experiment, to be successful, must be done quickly, before the
first feeling of bewilderment passes.
Witnessing the spectacle from the shore, I can conceive of nothing
more sudden or astounding. You see no movement and hear no noise, but
the light grows upon you, and stares and stares like a huge eye from
the infernal regions.
According to the guide, when a deer has been played upon in this
manner and escaped, he is not to be fooled a second time. Mounting the
shore, he gives a long signal snort, which alarms every animal within
hearing, and dashes away.
* * * * *
The sequel to the deer-shooting was a little sharp practice with a
revolver upon a rabbit, or properly a hare, which was so taken with
the spectacle of the camp-fire, and the sleeping figures lying about,
that it ventured quite up in our midst; but while testing the quality
of some condensed milk that sat uncovered at the foot of a large tree,
poor Lepus had his spine injured by a bullet.
Those who lodge with Nature find early rising quite in order. It is
our voluptuous beds, and isolation from the earth and the air, that
prevents us from emulating the birds and beasts in this respect. With
the citizen in his chamber, it is not morning, but breakfast-time. The
camper-out, however, feels morning in the air, he smells it, sees it,
hears it, and springs up with the general awakening. None were tardy
at the row of white chips arranged on the trunk of a prostrate tree,
when breakfast was halloed; for we were all anxious to try the
venison. Few of us, however, took a second piece. It was black and
strong.
The day was warm and calm, and we loafed at leisure. The woods were
Nature's own. It was a luxury to ramble through them,--rank, and
shaggy, and venerable, but with an aspect singularly ripe and mellow.
No fire had consumed and no lumberman plundered. Every trunk and limb
and leaf lay where it had fallen. At every step the foot sank into the
moss, which, like a soft green snow, covered everything, making every
stone a cushion and every rock a bed,--a grand old Norse parlor;
adorned beyond art and upholstered beyond skill.
Indulging in a brief nap on a rug of club-moss carelessly dropped at
the foot of a pine-tree, I woke up to find myself the subject of a
discussion of a troop of chickadees. Presently three or four shy
wood-warblers came to look upon this strange creature that had
wandered into their haunts; else I passed quite unnoticed.
By the lake, I met that orchard-beauty, the cedar wax-wing, spending
his vacation in the assumed character of a fly-catcher, whose part he
performed with great accuracy and deliberation. Only a month before I
had seen him regaling himself upon cherries in the garden and orchard,
but as the dog-days approached, he set out for the streams and lakes,
to divert himself with the more exciting pursuits of the chase. From
the tops of the dead trees along the border of the lake, he would
sally out in all directions, sweeping through long curves, alternately
mounting and descending, now reaching up for a fly high in air, now
sinking low for one near the surface, and returning to his perch in a
few moments for a fresh start.
The pine finch was also here, though, as usual, never appearing at
home, but with a waiting, expectant air. Here also I met my beautiful
singer, the hermit-thrush, but with no song in his throat now. A week
or two later and he was on his journey southward. This was the only
species of thrush I saw in the Adirondac. Near Lake Sandford, where
were large tracts of raspberry and wild cherry, I saw numbers of them.
A boy whom we met, driving home some stray cows, said it was the
"partridge-bird," no doubt from the resemblance of its note, when
disturbed, to the cluck of the partridge.
Nate's Pond contained perch and sun-fish but no trout. Its water was
not pure enough for trout. Was there ever any other fish so fastidious
as this, requiring such sweet harmony and perfection of the elements
for its production and sustenance? On higher ground about a mile
distant was a trout pond, the shores of which were steep and rocky.
Our next move was a tramp of about twelve miles through the wilderness,
most of the way in a drenching rain, to a place called the Lower Iron
Works, situated on the road leading in to Long Lake, which is about a
day's drive farther on. We found a comfortable hotel here, and were glad
enough to avail ourselves of the shelter and warmth which it offered.
There was a little settlement and some quite good farms. The place
commands a fine view to the north of Indian Pass, Mount Marcy, and the
adjacent mountains. On the afternoon of our arrival and also the next
morning the view was completely shut off by the fog. But about the
middle of the forenoon the wind changed, the fog lifted and revealed to
us the grandest mountain scenery we had beheld on our journey. There
they sat about fifteen miles distant, a group of them; Mount Marcy,
Mount McIntyre, and Mount Golden, the real Adirondac monarchs. It was an
impressive sight, rendered doubly so by the sudden manner in which it
was revealed to us by that scene shifter the Wind.
I saw blackbirds at this place, and sparrows, and the solitary sandpiper,
and the Canada woodpecker, and a large number of humming-birds. Indeed
I saw more of the latter here than I ever before saw in any one
locality. Their squeaking and whirring were almost incessant.
The Adirondac Iron Works belong to the past. Over thirty years ago a
company in Jersey City purchased some sixty thousand acres of land
lying along the Adirondac River and abounding in magnetic iron ore.
The land was cleared, roads, dams, and forges constructed, and the
work of manufacturing iron begun.
At this point a dam was built across the Hudson, the waters of which
flowed back into Lake Sandford, about five miles above. The lake
itself being some six miles long, tolerable navigation was thus
established for a distance of eleven miles, to the Upper Works, which
seem to have been the only works in operation. At the Lower Works,
besides the remains of the dam, the only vestige I saw was a long low
mound, overgrown with grass and weeds, that suggested a rude
earth-work. We were told that it was once a pile of wood containing
hundreds of cords, cut in regular lengths and corded up here for use
in the furnaces.
At the Upper Works, some twelve miles distant, quite a village had
been built, which was now entirely abandoned, with the exception of a
single family.
A march to this place was our next undertaking. The road for two or
three miles kept up from the river and led us by three or four rough,
stumpy farms. It then approached the lake and kept along its shores.
It was here a dilapidated corduroy structure that compelled the
traveler to keep an eye on his feet. Blue jays, two or three small
hawks, a solitary wild pigeon, and ruffed grouse were seen along the
route. Now and then the lake gleamed through the trees, or we crossed
on a shaky bridge some of its arms or inlets. After a while we began
to pass dilapidated houses by the roadside. One little frame house I
remember particularly; the door was off the hinges and leaned against
the jambs, the windows had but a few panes left which glared vacantly.
The yard and little garden spot were overrun with a heavy growth of
timothy, and the fences had all long since gone to decay. At the head
of the lake a large stone building projected from the steep bank and
extended over the road. A little beyond the valley opened to the east,
and looking ahead about one mile we saw smoke going up from a single
chimney. Pressing on, just as the sun was setting we entered the
deserted village. The barking of the dog brought the whole family into
the street, and they stood till we came up. Strangers in that country
were a novelty, and we were greeted like familiar acquaintances.
Hunter, the head, proved to be a first-rate type of an Americanized
Irishman. His wife was a Scotch woman. They had a family of five or six
children, two of them grown-up daughters--modest, comely young women as
you would find anywhere. The elder of the two had spent a winter in New
York with her aunt, which perhaps made her a little more self-conscious
when in the presence of the strange young men. Hunter was hired by the
company at a dollar a day to live here and see that things were not
wantonly destroyed but allowed to go to decay properly and decently. He
had a substantial roomy frame house and any amount of grass and
woodland. He had good barns and kept considerable stock, and raised
various farm products, but only for his own use, as the difficulties of
transportation to market some seventy miles distant made it no object.
He usually went to Ticonderoga on Lake Champlain once a year for his
groceries, etc. His post-office was twelve miles below at the Lower
Works, where the mail passed twice a week. There was not a doctor, or
lawyer, or preacher within twenty-five miles. In winter, months elapse
without their seeing anybody from the outside world. In summer, parties
occasionally pass through here on their way to Indian Pass and Mount
Marcy. Hundreds of tons of good timothy hay annually rot down upon the
cleared land.
After nightfall we went out and walked up and down the grass-grown
streets. It was a curious and melancholy spectacle. The remoteness and
surrounding wildness rendered the scene doubly impressive. And the
next day and the next the place was an object of wonder. There were
about thirty buildings in all, most of them small frame houses with a
door and two windows opening into a small yard in front and a garden
in the rear, such as are usually occupied by the laborers in a country
manufacturing district. There was one large two-story boarding-house,
a school-house with a cupola and a bell in it, and numerous sheds and
forges, and a saw-mill. In front of the saw-mill, and ready to be
rolled to their place on the carriage, lay a large pile of pine logs,
so decayed that one could run his walking-stick through them. Near by,
a building filled with charcoal was bursting open and the coal going
to waste on the ground. The smelting works were also much crumbled by
time. The school-house was still used. Every day one of the daughters
assembles her smaller brothers and sisters there and school keeps. The
district library contained nearly one hundred readable books, which
were well thumbed.
The absence of society, etc., had made the family all good readers. We
brought them an illustrated newspaper which was awaiting them in the
post-office at the Lower Works. It was read and reread with great
eagerness by every member of the household.
The iron ore cropped out on every hand. There was apparently mountains
of it; one could see it in the stones along the road. But the
difficulties met with in separating the iron from its alloys, together
with the expense of transportation and the failure of certain railroad
schemes, caused the works to be abandoned. No doubt the time is not
distant when these obstacles will be overcome and this region
reopened.
At present it is an admirable place to go to. There is fishing and
hunting and boating and mountain climbing within easy reach, and a
good roof over your head at night, which is no small matter. One is
often disqualified for enjoying the woods after he gets there by the
loss of sleep and of proper food taken at seasonable times. This point
attended to, and one is in the humor for any enterprise.
About half a mile northeast of the village is Lake Henderson, a very
irregular and picturesque sheet of water, surrounded by dark evergreen
forests, and abutted by two or three bold promontories with mottled
white and gray rocks. Its greatest extent in any one direction is
perhaps less than a mile. Its waters are perfectly clear and abound in
lake trout. A considerable stream flows into it which comes down from
Indian Pass.
A mile south of the village is Lake Sandford. This is a more open and
exposed sheet of water and much larger. From some parts of it Mount
Marcy and the gorge of the Indian Pass are seen to excellent
advantage. The Indian Pass shows as a huge cleft in the mountain, the
gray walls rising on one side perpendicularly for many hundred feet.
This lake abounds in white and yellow perch and in pickerel; of the
latter single specimens are often caught which weigh fifteen pounds.
There were a few wild ducks on both lakes. A brood of the goosander or
red merganser, the young not yet able to fly, were the occasion of
some spirited rowing. But with two pairs of oars in a trim light
skiff, it was impossible to come up with them. Yet we could not resist
the temptation to give them a chase every day when we first came on
the lake. It needed a good long pull to sober us down so we could
fish.
The land on the east side of the lake had been burnt over, and was now
mostly grown up with wild cherry and red raspberry-bushes. Ruffed
grouse were found here in great numbers. The Canada grouse was also
common. I shot eight of the latter in less than an hour on one
occasion; the eighth one, which was an old male, was killed with
smooth pebble stones, my shot having run short. The wounded bird ran
under a pile of brush, like a frightened hen. Thrusting a forked stick
down through the interstices I soon stopped his breathing. Wild
pigeons were quite numerous also. These latter recall a singular freak
of the sharp shinned hawk. A flock of pigeons alighted on the top of a
dead hemlock standing in the edge of a swamp. I got over the fence and
moved toward them across an open space. I had not taken many steps,
when on looking up I saw the whole flock again in motion flying very
rapidly around the butt of a hill. Just then this hawk alighted on the
same tree. I stepped back into the road and paused a moment in doubt
which course to go. At that instant the little hawk launched into the
air and came as straight as an arrow toward me. I looked in amazement,
but in less than half a minute he was within fifty feet of my face,
coming full tilt as if he had sighted my nose. Almost in self-defense
I let fly one barrel of my gun, and the mangled form of the audacious
marauder fell literally between my feet.
Of wild animals, such as bears, panthers, wolves, wild cats, etc., we
neither saw nor heard any in the Adirondacs. "A howling wilderness,"
Thoreau says, "seldom ever howls. The howling is chiefly done by the
imagination of the traveler." Hunter said he often saw bear tracks in
the snow, but had never yet met Bruin. Deer are more or less abundant
everywhere, and one old sportsman declares there is yet a single moose
in these mountains. On our return, a pioneer settler, at whose house
we stayed over-night, told us a long adventure he had had with a
panther. He related how it screamed, how it followed him in the brush,
how he took to his boat, how its eyes gleamed from the shore, and how
he fired his rifle at them with fatal effect. His wife in the mean
time took something from a drawer, and as her husband finished his
recital, she produced a toe-nail of the identical animal with marked
dramatic effect.
But better than fish or game or grand scenery or any adventure by
night or day, is the wordless intercourse with rude Nature one has on
these expeditions. It is something to press the pulse of our old
mother by mountain lakes and streams, and know what health and vigor
are in her veins, and how regardless of observation she deports
herself.
[Illustration: Crow-Blackbird.]
BIRDS'-NESTS.
How alert and vigilant the birds are, even when absorbed in building
their nests! In an open space in the woods I see a pair of cedar-birds
collecting moss from the top of a dead tree. Following the direction in
which they fly, I soon discover the nest placed in the fork of a small
soft-maple, which stands amid a thick growth of wild cherry-trees and
young beeches. Carefully concealing myself beneath it without any fear
that the workmen will hit me with a chip or let fall a tool, I await the
return of the busy pair. Presently I hear the well-known note, and the
female sweeps down and settles unsuspectingly into the half-finished
structure. Hardly have her wings rested before her eye has penetrated my
screen, and with a hurried movement of alarm she darts away. In a moment
the male, with a tuft of wool in his beak (for there is a sheep-pasture
near), joins her, and the two reconnoitre the premises from the
surrounding bushes. With their beaks still loaded, they move around with
a frightened look, and refuse to approach the nest till I have moved off
and lain down behind a log. Then one of them ventures to alight upon the
nest, but, still suspecting all is not right, quickly darts away again.
Then they both together come, and after much peeping and spying about,
and apparently much anxious consultation, cautiously proceed to work. In
less than half an hour it would seem that wool enough has been brought
to supply the whole family, real and prospective, with socks, if needles
and fingers could be found fine enough to knit it up. In less than a
week the female has begun to deposit her eggs,--four of them in as many
days,--white tinged with purple, with black spots on the larger end.
After two weeks of incubation, the young are out.
Excepting the American goldfinch, this bird builds later in the spring
than any other--its nest, in our northern climate, seldom being
undertaken till July. As with the goldfinch, the reason is, probably,
that suitable food for the young cannot be had at an earlier period.
Like most of our common species, as the robin, sparrow, bluebird,
pewee, wren, etc., this bird sometimes seeks wild, remote localities
in which to rear its young; at others, takes up its abode near that of
man. I knew a pair of cedar-birds, one season, to build in an
apple-tree, the branches of which rubbed against the house. For a day
or two before the first straw was laid, I noticed the pair carefully
exploring every branch of the tree, the female taking the lead, the
male following her with an anxious note and look. It was evident that
the wife was to have her choice this time; and, like one who
thoroughly knew her mind, she was proceeding to take it. Finally the
site was chosen upon a high branch, extending over one low wing of the
house. Mutual congratulations and caresses followed, when both birds
flew away in quest of building material. That most freely used is a
sort of cotton-bearing plant, which grows in old worn-out fields. The
nest is large for the size of the bird, and very soft. It is in every
respect a first-class domicile.
On another occasion, while walking or rather sauntering in the woods
(for I have discovered that one cannot run and read the book of
nature), my attention was arrested by a dull hammering, evidently but
a few rods off. I said to myself, "Some one is building a house." From
what I had previously seen, I suspected the builder to be a red-headed
woodpecker in the top of a dead oak stub near by. Moving cautiously in
that direction, I perceived a round hole, about the size of that made
by an inch and a half auger, near the top of the decayed trunk, and
the white chips of the workman strewing the ground beneath. When but a
few paces from the tree, my foot pressed upon a dry twig, which gave
forth a very slight snap. Instantly the hammering ceased, and a
scarlet head appeared at the door. Though I remained perfectly
motionless, forbearing even to wink till my eyes smarted, the bird
refused to go on with his work, but flew quietly off to a neighboring
tree. What surprised me was, that amid his busy occupation down in the
heart of the old tree, he should have been so alert and watchful as to
catch the slightest sound from without.
The woodpeckers all build in about the same manner, excavating the
trunk or branch of a decayed tree and depositing the eggs on the fine
fragments of wood at the bottom of the cavity. Though the nest is not
especially an artistic work,--requiring strength rather than
skill,--yet the eggs and the young of few other birds are so
completely housed from the elements, or protected from their natural
enemies--the jays, crows, hawks, and owls. A tree with a natural
cavity is never selected, but one which has been dead just long enough
to have become soft and brittle throughout. The bird goes in
horizontally for a few inches, making a hole perfectly round and
smooth and adapted to his size, then turns downward, gradually
enlarging the hole, as he proceeds, to the depth of ten, fifteen,
twenty inches, according to the softness of the tree and the urgency
of the mother-bird to deposit her eggs. While excavating, male and
female work alternately. After one has been engaged fifteen or twenty
minutes, drilling and carrying out chips, it ascends to an upper limb,
utters a loud call or two, when its mate soon appears, and, alighting
near it on the branch, the pair chatter and caress a moment, then the
fresh one enters the cavity and the other flies away.
A few days since I climbed up to the nest of the downy woodpecker, in
the decayed top of a sugar-maple. For better protection against
driving rains, the hole, which was rather more than an inch in
diameter, was made immediately beneath a branch which stretched out
almost horizontally from the main stem. It appeared merely a deeper
shadow upon the dark and mottled surface of the bark with which the
branches were covered, and could not be detected by the eye until one
was within a few feet of it. The young chirped vociferously as I
approached the nest, thinking it was the old one with food; but the
clamor suddenly ceased as I put my hand on that part of the trunk in
which they were concealed, the unusual jarring and rustling alarming
them into silence. The cavity, which was about fifteen inches deep,
was gourd-shaped, and was wrought out with great skill and regularity.
The walls were quite smooth and clean and new.