steep valley, which swept around toward the west. About two hundred
rods below us was a rude log-house, with smoke issuing from the
chimney. A boy came out and moved toward the spring with a pail in his
hand. We shouted to him, when he turned and ran back into the house
without pausing to reply. In a moment the whole family hastily rushed
into the yard, and turned their faces toward us. If we had come down
their chimney, they could not have seemed more astonished. Not making
out what they said, I went down to the house, and learned to my
chagrin that we were still on the Mill Brook side, having crossed only
a spur of the mountain. We had not borne sufficiently to the left, so
that the main range, which, at the point of crossing, suddenly breaks
off to the southeast, still intervened between us and the lake. We
were about five miles, as the water runs, from the point of starting,
and over two from the lake. We must go directly back to the top of the
range where the guide had left us, and then, by keeping well to the
left, we would soon come to a line of marked trees, which would lead
us to the lake. So turning upon our trail, we doggedly began the work
of undoing what we had just done,--in all cases a disagreeable task,
in this case a very laborious one also. It was after sunset when we
turned back, and before we had got half-way up the mountain it began
to be quite dark. We were often obliged to rest our packs against
trees and take breath, which made our progress slow. Finally a halt
was called, beside an immense flat rock which had paused in its slide
down the mountain, and we prepared to encamp for the night. A fire was
built, the rock cleared off, a small ration of bread served out, our
accoutrements hung up out of the way of the hedgehogs that were
supposed to infest the locality, and then we disposed ourselves for
sleep. If the owls or porcupines (and I think I heard one of the
latter in the middle of the night) reconnoitred our camp, they saw a
buffalo robe spread upon a rock, with three old felt hats arranged on
one side, and three pairs of sorry-looking cowhide boots protruding
from the other.
When we lay down, there was apparently not a mosquito in the woods; but
the "no-see-ems," as Thoreau's Indian aptly named the midges, soon found
us out, and after the fire had gone down annoyed us much. My hands and
wrists suddenly began to smart and itch in a most unaccountable manner.
My first thought was that they had been poisoned in some way. Then the
smarting extended to my neck and face, even to my scalp, when I began to
suspect what was the matter. So wrapping myself up more thoroughly, and
stowing my hands away as best I could, I tried to sleep, being some time
behind my companions, who appeared not to mind the "no-see-ems." I was
further annoyed by some little irregularity on my side of the couch. The
chambermaid had not beaten it up well. One huge lump refused to be
mollified, and each attempt to adapt it to some natural hollow in my own
body brought only a moment's relief. But at last I got the better of
this also and slept. Late in the night I woke up, just in time to hear a
golden-crowned thrush sing in a tree near by. It sang as loud and
cheerily as at midday, and I thought myself, after all, quite in luck.
Birds occasionally sing at night, just as the cock crows. I have heard
the hair-bird, and the note of the king-bird; and the ruffed grouse
frequently drums at night.
At the first faint signs of day, a wood-thrush sang a few rods below
us. Then after a little delay, as the gray light began to grow around,
thrushes broke out in full song in all parts of the woods. I thought I
had never before heard them sing so sweetly. Such a leisurely, golden
chant!--it consoled us for all we had undergone. It was the first
thing in order,--the worms were safe till after this morning chorus. I
judged that the birds roosted but a few feet from the ground. In fact,
a bird in all cases roosts where it builds, and the wood-thrush
occupies, as it were, the first story of the woods.
There is something singular about the distribution of the wood-thrushes.
At an earlier stage of my observations I should have been much surprised
at finding it in these woods. Indeed, I had stated in print on two
occasions that the wood-thrush was not found in the higher lands of the
Catskills, but that the hermit-thrush and the veery, or Wilson's thrush,
were common. It turns out that this statement is only half true. The
wood-thrush is found also, but is much more rare and secluded in its
habits than either of the others, being seen only during the breeding
season on remote mountains, and then only on their eastern and southern
slopes. I have never yet in this region found the bird spending the
season in the near and familiar woods, which is directly contrary to
observations I have made in other parts of the State. So different are
the habits of birds in different localities.
As soon as it was fairly light we were up and ready to resume our
march. A small bit of bread-and-butter and a swallow or two of whiskey
was all we had for breakfast that morning. Our supply of each was very
limited, and we were anxious to save a little of both, to relieve the
diet of trout to which we looked forward.
At an early hour we reached the rock where we had parted with the
guide, and looked around us into the dense, trackless woods with many
misgivings. To strike out now on our own hook, where the way was so
blind and after the experience we had just had was a step not to be
carelessly taken. The tops of these mountains are so broad, and a
short distance in the woods seems so far, that one is by no means
master of the situation after reaching the summit. And then there are
so many spurs and offshoots and changes of direction, added to the
impossibility of making any generalization by the aid of the eye, that
before one is aware of it he is very wide of his mark.
I remembered now that a young farmer of my acquaintance had told me
how he had made a long day's march through the heart of this region,
without path or guide of any kind, and had hit his mark squarely. He
had been bark-peeling in Callikoon,--a famous country for bark,--and,
having got enough of it, he desired to reach his home on Dry Brook
without making the usual circuitous journey between the two places.
To do this necessitated a march of ten or twelve miles across several
ranges of mountains and through an unbroken forest,--a hazardous
undertaking in which no one would join him. Even the old hunters who
were familiar with the ground dissuaded him and predicted the failure
of his enterprise. But having made up his mind, he possessed himself
thoroughly of the topography of the country from the aforesaid
hunters, shouldered his axe, and set out, holding a straight course
through the woods, and turning aside for neither swamps, streams, nor
mountains. When he paused to rest he would mark some object ahead of
him with his eye, in order that on getting up again he might not
deviate from his course. His directors had told him of a hunter's
cabin about midway on his route, which if he struck he might be sure
he was right. About noon this cabin was reached, and at sunset he
emerged at the head of Dry Brook.
After looking in vain for the line of marked trees, we moved off to
the left in a doubtful, hesitating manner, keeping on the highest
ground and blazing the trees as we went. We were afraid to go down
hill, lest we should descend too soon; our vantage-ground was high
ground. A thick fog coming on, we were more bewildered than ever.
Still we pressed forward, climbing up ledges and wading through ferns
for about two hours, when we paused by a spring that issued from
beneath an immense wall of rock that belted the highest part of the
mountain. There was quite a broad plateau here, and the birch wood was
very dense, and the trees of unusual size.
After resting and exchanging opinions, we all concluded that it was
best not to continue our search encumbered as we were; but we were not
willing to abandon it altogether, and I proposed to my companions to
leave them beside the spring with our traps, while I made one thorough
and final effort to find the lake. If I succeeded and desired them to
come forward, I was to fire my gun three times; if I failed and wished
to return, I would fire it twice, they, of course responding.
So filling my canteen from the spring, I set out again, taking the
spring run for my guide. Before I had followed it two hundred yards it
sank into the ground at my feet. I had half a mind to be superstitious
and to believe that we were under a spell, since our guides played us
such tricks. However, I determined to put the matter to a further
test, and struck out boldly to the left. This seemed to be the
keyword,--to the left, to the left. The fog had now lifted, so that I
could form a better idea of the lay of the land. Twice I looked down
the steep sides of the mountain, sorely tempted to risk a plunge.
Still I hesitated and kept along on the brink. As I stood on a rock
deliberating, I heard a crackling of the brush, like the tread of some
large game, on a plateau below me. Suspecting the truth of the case, I
moved stealthily down, and found a herd of young cattle leisurely
browsing. We had several times crossed their trail, and had seen that
morning a level, grassy place on the top of the mountain, where they
had passed the night. Instead of being frightened, as I had expected,
they seemed greatly delighted, and gathered around me as if to inquire
the tidings from the outer world,--perhaps the quotations of the
cattle market. They came up to me, and eagerly licked my hand,
clothes, and gun. Salt was what they were after, and they were ready
to swallow anything that contained the smallest percentage of it. They
were mostly yearlings and as sleek as moles. They had a very gamy
look. We were afterwards told that, in the spring, the farmers round
about turn into these woods their young cattle, which do not come out
again till fall. They are then in good condition,--not fat, like
grass-fed cattle, but trim and supple, like deer. Once a month the
owner hunts them up and salts them. They have their beats, and seldom
wander beyond well-defined limits. It was interesting to see them
feed. They browsed on the low limbs and bushes, and on the various
plants, munching at everything without any apparent discrimination.
They attempted to follow me, but I escaped them by clambering down
some steep rocks. I now found myself gradually edging down the side of
the mountain, keeping around it in a spiral manner, and scanning the
woods and the shape of the ground for some encouraging hint or sign.
Finally the woods became more open, and the descent less rapid. The
trees were remarkably straight and uniform in size. Black birches,
the first I had seen, were very numerous. I felt encouraged. Listening
attentively, I caught from a breeze just lifting the drooping leaves,
a sound that I willingly believed was made by a bull-frog. On this
hint, I tore down through the woods at my highest speed. Then I paused
and listened again. This time there was no mistaking it; it was the
sound of frogs. Much elated, I rushed on. By and by I could hear them
as I ran. _Pthrung, pthrung_, croaked the old ones; _pug, pug_,
shrilly joined in the smaller fry.
Then I caught, through the lower trees, a gleam of blue, which I first
thought was distant sky. A second look and I knew it to be water, and
in a moment more I stepped from the woods and stood upon the shore of
the lake. I exulted silently. There it was at last, sparkling in the
morning sun, and as beautiful as a dream. It was so good to come upon
such open space and such bright hues, after wandering in the dim,
dense woods! The eye is as delighted as an escaped bird, and darts
gleefully from point to point.
The lake was a long oval, scarcely more than a mile in circumference,
with evenly wooded shores, which rose gradually on all sides. After
contemplating the scene for a moment, I stepped back into the woods
and loading my gun as heavily as I dared, discharged it three times.
The reports seemed to fill all the mountains with sound. The frogs
quickly hushed, and I listened for the response. But no response
came. Then I tried again, and again, but without evoking an answer.
One of my companions, however, who had climbed to the top of the high
rocks in the rear of the spring thought he heard faintly one report.
It seemed an immense distance below him, and far around under the
mountain. I knew I had come a long way, and hardly expected to be able
to communicate with my companions in the manner agreed upon. I
therefore started back, choosing my course without any reference to
the circuitous route by which I had come, and loading heavily and
firing at intervals. I must have aroused many long-dormant echoes from
a Rip Van Winkle sleep. As my powder got low, I fired and halloed
alternately, till I came near splitting both my throat and gun.
Finally, after I had begun to have a very ugly feeling of alarm and
disappointment, and to cast about vaguely for some course to pursue in
the emergency that seemed near at hand,--namely, the loss of my
companions now I had found the lake,--a favoring breeze brought me the
last echo of a response. I rejoined with spirit, and hastened with all
speed in the direction whence the sound had come, but after repeated
trials, failed to elicit another answering sound. This filled me with
apprehension again. I feared that my friends had been misled by the
reverberations, and I pictured them to myself hastening in the
opposite direction. Paying little attention to my course, but paying
dearly for my carelessness afterward, I rushed forward to undeceive
them. But they had not been deceived, and in a few moments an
answering shout revealed them near at hand. I heard their tramp, the
bushes parted, and we three met again.
In answer to their eager inquiries, I assured them that I had seen the
lake, that it was at the foot of the mountain, and that we could not
miss it if we kept straight down from where we then were.
My clothes were soaked with perspiration, but I shouldered my knapsack
with alacrity, and we began the descent. I noticed that the woods were
much thicker, and had quite a different look from those I had passed
through, but thought nothing of it, as I expected to strike the lake
near its head, whereas I had before come out at its foot. We had not
gone far when we crossed a line of marked trees, which my companions
were disposed to follow. It intersected our course nearly at right
angles, and kept along and up the side of the mountain. My impression
was that it led up from the lake, and that by keeping our own course
we should reach the lake sooner than if we followed this line.
About half-way down the mountain, we could see through the interstices
the opposite slope. I encouraged my comrades by telling them that the
lake was between us and that, and not more than half a mile distant.
We soon reached the bottom, where we found a small stream and quite an
extensive alder-swamp, evidently the ancient bed of a lake. I
explained to my half-vexed and half-incredulous companions that we
were probably above the lake, and that this stream must lead to it.
"Follow it," they said; "we will wait here till we hear from you."
So I went on, more than ever disposed to believe that we were under a
spell, and that the lake had slipped from my grasp after all. Seeing
no favorable sign as I went forward, I laid down my accoutrements, and
climbed a decayed beech that leaned out over the swamp and promised a
good view from the top. As I stretched myself up to look around from
the highest attainable branch, there was suddenly a loud crack at the
root. With a celerity that would at least have done credit to a bear,
I regained the ground, having caught but a momentary glimpse of the
country, but enough to convince me no lake was near. Leaving all
incumbrances here but my gun, I still pressed on, loath to be thus
baffled. After floundering through another alder-swamp for nearly half
a mile, I flattered myself that I was close on to the lake. I caught
sight of a low spur of the mountain sweeping around like a half
extended arm, and I fondly imagined that within its clasp was the
object of my search. But I found only more alder-swamp. After this
region was cleared, the creek began to descend the mountain very
rapidly. Its banks became high and narrow, and it went whirling away
with a sound that seemed to my ears like a burst of ironical laughter.
I turned back with a feeling of mingled disgust, shame, and vexation.
In fact I was almost sick, and when I reached my companions, after an
absence of nearly two hours, hungry, fatigued, and disheartened, I
would have sold my interest in Thomas's Lake at a very low figure. For
the first time, I heartily wished myself well out of the woods. Thomas
might keep his lake, and the enchanters guard his possession! I
doubted if he had ever found it the second time, or if any one else
ever had.
My companions who were quite fresh, and who had not felt the strain of
baffled purpose as I had, assumed a more encouraging tone. After I had
rested a while, and partaken sparingly of the bread and whiskey, which
in such an emergency is a great improvement on bread and water, I
agreed to their proposition that we should make another attempt. As if
to reassure us, a robin sounded his cheery call near by, and the
winter-wren, the first I had heard in these woods, set his music-box
going, which fairly ran over with fine, gushing, lyrical sounds. There
can be no doubt but this bird is one of our finest songsters. If it
would only thrive and sing well when caged, like the canary, how far
it would surpass that bird! It has all the vivacity and versatility of
the canary, without any of its shrillness. Its song is indeed a little
cascade of melody.
We again retraced our steps, rolling the stone, as it were, back up
the mountain, determined to commit ourselves to the line of marked
trees. These we finally reached, and, after exploring the country to
the right, saw that bearing to the left was still the order. The trail
led up over a gentle rise of ground, and in less than twenty minutes
we were in the woods I had passed through when I found the lake. The
error I had made was then plain; we had come off the mountain a few
paces too far to the right, and so had passed down on the wrong side
of the ridge, into what we afterwards learned was the valley of Alder
Creek.
We now made good time, and before many minutes I again saw the mimic
sky glance through the trees. As we approached the lake a solitary
woodchuck, the first wild animal we had seen since entering the woods,
sat crouched upon the root of a tree a few feet from the water,
apparently completed nonplussed by the unexpected appearance of danger
on the land side. All retreat was cut off, and he looked his fate in
the face without flinching. I slaughtered him just as a savage would
have done, and from the same motive,--I wanted his carcass to eat.
The mid-afternoon sun was now shining upon the lake, and a low, steady
breeze drove the little waves rocking to the shore. A herd of cattle
were browsing on the other side, and the bell of the leader sounded
across the water. In these solitudes its clang was wild and musical.
To try the trout was the first thing in order. On a rude raft of logs
which we found moored at the shore, and which with two aboard shipped
about a foot of water, we floated out and wet our first fly in
Thomas's Lake; but the trout refused to jump, and, to be frank, not
more than a dozen and a half were caught during our stay. Only a week
previous, a party of three had taken in a few hours all the fish they
could carry out of the woods, and had nearly surfeited their neighbors
with trout. But from some cause they now refused to rise, or to touch
any kind of bait: so we fell to catching the sun-fish which were small
but very abundant. Their nests were all along shore. A space about the
size of a breakfast-plate was cleared of sediment and decayed
vegetable matter, revealing the pebbly bottom, fresh and bright, with
one or two fish suspended over the centre of it, keeping watch and
ward. If an intruder approached, they would dart at him spitefully.
These fish have the air of bantam cocks, and with their sharp, prickly
fins and spines, and scaly sides, must be ugly customers in a hand to
hand encounter with other finny warriors. To a hungry man they look
about as unpromising as hemlock slivers, so thorny and thin are they;
yet there is sweet meat in them, as we found that day.
Much refreshed, I set out with the sun low in the west to explore the
outlet of the lake and try for trout there, while my companions made
further trials in the lake itself. The outlet, as is usual in bodies
of water of this kind, was very gentle and private. The stream, six or
eight feet wide, flowed silently and evenly along for a distance of
three or four rods, when it suddenly, as if conscious of its freedom,
took a leap down some rocks. Thence, as far as I followed it, its
descent was very rapid, through a continuous succession of brief
falls like so many steps down the mountain. Its appearance promised
more trout than I found, though I returned to camp with a very
respectable string.
Toward sunset I went round to explore the inlet, and found that as
usual the stream wound leisurely through marshy ground. The water
being much colder than in the outlet, the trout were more plentiful.
As I was picking my way over the miry ground and through the rank
growths, a ruffed grouse hopped up on a fallen branch a few paces
before me, and, jerking his tail, threatened to take flight. But as I
was at that moment gunless and remained stationary, he presently
jumped down and walked away.
A seeker of birds, and ever on the alert for some new acquaintance, my
attention was arrested, on first entering the swamp, by a bright,
lively song, or warble, that issued from the branches overhead, and
that was entirely new to me, though there was something in the tone of
it that told me the bird was related to the wood-wagtail and to the
water-wagtail or thrush. The strain was emphatic and quite loud, like
the canary's, but very brief. The bird kept itself well secreted in
the upper branches of the trees and for a long time eluded my eye. I
passed to and fro several times, and it seemed to break out afresh as
I approached a certain little bend in the creek, and to cease after I
had got beyond it; no doubt its nest was somewhere in the vicinity.
After some delay the bird was sighted and brought down. It proved to
be the small, or Northern, water-thrush (called also the New York
water-thrush)--a new bird to me. In size it was noticeably smaller
than the large, or Louisiana, water-thrush, as described by Audubon,
but in other respects its general appearance was the same. It was a
great treat to me, and again I felt myself in luck.
This bird was unknown to the older ornithologists, and is but poorly
described by the new. It builds a mossy nest on the ground, or under
the edge of a decayed log. A correspondent writes me that he has found
it breeding on the mountains in Pennsylvania. The large-billed
water-thrush is much the superior songster, but the present species
has a very bright and cheerful strain. The specimen I saw, contrary to
the habits of the family, kept in the tree-tops like a warbler, and
seemed to be engaged in catching insects.
The birds were unusually plentiful and noisy about the head of this
lake; robins, blue jays, and woodpeckers greeted me with their
familiar notes. The blue jays found an owl or some wild animal a short
distance above me, and, as is their custom on such occasions,
proclaimed it at the top of their voices, and kept on till the
darkness began to gather in the woods.
I also heard here, as I had at two or three other points in the course
of the day, the peculiar, resonant hammering of some species of
woodpecker upon the hard, dry limbs. It was unlike any sound of the
kind I had ever before heard, and, repeated at intervals through the
silent woods, was a very marked and characteristic feature. Its
peculiarity was the ordered succession of the raps, which gave it the
character of a premeditated performance. There were first three
strokes following each other rapidly, then two much louder ones with
longer intervals between them. I heard the drumming here, and the next
day at sunset at Furlow Lake, the source of Dry Brook, and in no
instance was the order varied. There was melody in it, such as a
woodpecker knows how to evoke from a smooth, dry branch. It suggested
something quite as pleasing as the liveliest bird-song, and was if
anything more woodsy and wild. As the yellow-bellied woodpecker was
the most abundant species in these woods I attributed it to him. It is
the one sound that still links itself with those scenes in my mind.