than to welcome the whole party.
"O, Miss Walters, what's this lovely flower?" "Come here, come here!"
"O, how lovely! here's plenty more!" "And here, and here," were the
exclamations of several of the advancing stragglers.
All who were with Miss Walters hastened forward; and there, in a wet,
treacherous-looking place, grew patches of a most delicate
lilac-colored or light purple flower.
"O, that's Arethusa," said the teacher; "it is very beautiful."
Rubber boots only can get at them; and two or three boys soon returned
with hands full, which they distributed. Miss Walters said they could
not stop to analyze any that day, but some of each kind must be put in
the botany box, for the class to work with at some future time. As
they walked along, Miss Walters told them that the flower was named
after Arethusa of Grecian story, who was changed by Diana into a
fountain, to escape from the god of the river where she was one day
surprised by him while bathing.
They had not gone far when Phil and two of the girls came running up
with hands full of the Sarracenia, or pitcher-plant.
"What fine specimens!" said Miss Walters.
"O, I know where they grow!" said Phil. "I always go for them every
year, just over that old fence, in a boggy place. I like them better
than almost any of the plants, they are so curious. But where's a
basket?"
"Here, Amy!" called Bessie White; "can't you let me put my small lunch
in your big basket with yours, and let Phil have mine for a specimen
basket?"
This arrangement being satisfactorily made, they moved along, one of
the girls telling the new comers of the Arethusa and its name. And it
was decided that all Miss Walters might tell them concerning the
flowers should be written down, for the benefit of all, as they were
often separated, searching for specimens.
In the next meadow they came upon beds of Menyanthes--an ugly name,
and its common one of buck-bean is not much better. They could find
but few perfect specimens of the pretty white velvety flowers, with
their yellow and brown anthers, as it was rather late for them.
They found Pogonias and buds of Calopogon,--pretty pinkish
flowers,--both of which Miss Walters told them were closely related,
and, indeed, belonged to the same family as the Arethusa. This was the
Orchid family, which contained a large number of beautiful but strange
plants, about a dozen of which were common in New England.
On the edge of an overgrown ditch near by they found very nice
specimens of Andromeda.
"See," said Miss Walters, "how white and lovely these bells are, in
spite of the cold wet places where it is compelled to grow. It is
named after Andromeda, famed in Grecian myths, a victim to her
mother's pride of beauty. Her mother had dared to compare herself to
the sea nymphs, for which they, enraged, sent a huge monster to ravage
the coast. To appease the nymphs, her father thought he must sacrifice
his daughter; so he chained her to the water's edge; but as the
monster approached, Perseus, assisted by the gods, killed him,
delivered Andromeda, and afterwards married her."
The party now turned from the meadows on to higher ground. Houstonias
and violets, with here and there Potentilla, covered the ground, the
last so called because it was supposed to be powerful in medicine,
_potens_, from which it is derived, meaning powerful.
The Saxifrage on the rocks, derived from Latin words, indicating its
manner of growth.
Anemones, or wind flowers, were not entirely gone; so named because it
was formerly thought the flowers only opened when the wind blew.
Specimens multiplied. Each little group found something new.
Trilliums, remarkable for having leaves, sepals, petals, and
seed-vessels in threes; Smilacina, with its clean, green leaves, and
white flowers, grew plentifully about them; Streptopus, meaning
twisted foot, called so because its foot, or pedicel, is twisted.
About five o'clock they began their homeward walk, which took them
round through some grand old pine woods. At last they came to their
resting-place. All were more or less tired; and glad were they when
they saw the black mouth of the cave open invitingly before them. Some
threw themselves on the rock outside, some went in and rested on the
fragrant hay that Arthur had piled on the floor.
After resting a while in the cool shade, Phil said, "I have a bright
thought that rhymes with 'light.'"
"Is it the opposite of 'loose'?"
"It is not 'tight.'"
"Is it what you are sometimes?"
"It is not 'bright.'"
"O, I meant a 'fright'!"
"Thank you; it is not 'fright.'"
"Is it what we are all wishing for?"
"It is a 'bite.'"
This was greeted with a shout, and committee number one,
self-appointed, started for the baskets. Others arranged the table
with boards and rocks put outside the cave door. The eatables were
soon temptingly arranged. The jug of coffee and bottle of milk, with
rubber mugs, were placed under Arthur's care; and he soon had as much
as he could do to pour the refreshing draughts.
The girls had little to do, the boys doing the honors in fine style.
Very merry they grew over the good things; and so intent were they
trying to sell the last at auction, that they never noticed a large
cloud that had overspread the sky, until a few drops of rain fell upon
the table.
"Here's a pretty go!" said Fred. "Run, Miss Walters; and, girls, get
into the cave, and we'll clear the tables."
[Illustration: {The friends' picnic is spoiled by the rain}]
Busy hands quickly disposed of all the articles to be kept dry, and
the boys were glad to get into the friendly shelter. Down came the
rain, heavily rolled the thunder, and for a little while the lightning
was vivid. Soon the rain began to find its way into the cave.
"This will not do. Where's the table, Fred? We must have up a storm
door," said Phil.
"All ready to slide right up," said Fred. "Arthur, will you get the
chandelier ready? for it will be rather dark when the door is up."
Arthur crept on his hands and knees to a little crevice in the inner
part of the cave, and drew out a tin box, with four holes in the
cover. The girls gathered around, and were much amused to see him take
out his four candles. These he stuck into the holes of the box; and
lighting them, he placed them on a shelf prepared expressly for the
occasion.
Never were boys and girls more happy. They were enjoying excitement
without danger or discomfort. They sang, played games; and when the
rain had nearly ceased, some of the boys ran out and lighted the fire.
They had kept the wood dry. Then turning the table on its side, they
put out the candles, and had the full benefit of the fire-light. For a
while conundrums were the order of the day; then they drew lots to
determine who should tell the first story. It fell to Millie Gray,
who, with timid modesty, demurred; but the penalty threatened for
default was so great, that though she had never told a story in her
life, she thought she had better begin now. Attentively they listened,
waiting for her to begin. Presently she commenced.
"There was, once upon a time, a beautiful little girl, with blue eyes
and golden hair."
"O," interrupted Fred, "can't we have this one with black eyes and
red hair, or brown eyes; I'm tired of blue eyes and yellow hair."
"No, no, no," said Arthur; "I like blue eyes. Go on, Millie." With a
blush--for her own were blue, and she knew what Arthur meant--she
continued.
"Well, I like to oblige all parties," replied Millie. "Suppose we say
her eyes were black and blue; but if any one else interrupts, I'll
have them committed for contempt of court, and they shall be bound
over to keep the peace."
"Which piece?" Fred was beginning to say, when Arthur jumped up and
placed his hand over Fred's mouth, saying, "Consider yourself bound
over, sir."
"Well, this little girl lived in a deep forest, in a little bit of a
house, with no one for company but her grandmother and a little yellow
dog.
"The grandmother was just as cross as she could be, and poor
little--let's see, what shall I call her?"
"Odahbeetoqua," suggested Fred. "I suppose she was descended from the
Indians."
"Yes," said Millie, very seriously, "that was her name; but nobody
called her by it all at one time; they said Daisy, for short.
"Well, one day little Daisy felt so sad and lonely, and her
grandmother had been so cross, that she said to the little yellow
dog,--
"'Tip, let's run away. I'm tired of staying here. Granny is so cross,
I cannot stand it another minute.'
"'Yes, indeed. I'll go with you, Daisy,' said Tip, wagging his tail;
'for this morning, when I was licking up a bit of butter off the
floor, she kicked me, and hit me over the head with a broom, and threw
a stick of wood after me as I indignantly left the premises, and
wounded my feelings very much.'
"'But then, Tip, suppose we should get lost in the woods, and die of
starvation, and bears should eat us up.'
"'Trust to me, Daisy,' Tip replied. 'I will lead you safely out of the
wood, and see that nothing hurts you.'
"Just then a woman came to the door, and said, 'I have heard your
conversation. Come with me, and you shall both live in a nice house,
where you can play all day, and have fine clothes, and plenty to eat.'
"'Ah, wouldn't that be pleasant!' said Daisy; and she was just
preparing to go with the woman, when she stopped suddenly, and said,
'But who will get wood for granny's fire? and who will pick berries
for her? She'd die if we should leave her alone. No, I can't leave
her. She's very cross; but then, she is sick all the time, nearly, and
I won't go.'
"'O, yes, do!' said the woman. 'I have a lovely white pony, as gentle
as a kitten, that you shall have to ride, and beautiful dresses. You'd
better come.'
"'Thank you,' said Daisy; 'I'd like to go with you. You may take Tip.
Perhaps he'd like to go, but I won't leave grandmother; she'd die if I
did.'
"No sooner had Daisy finished speaking, than the woman turned into a
beautiful fairy, the shanty turned into a palace, granny turned into a
queen, Daisy into a lovely princess, with black and blue--I mean
heavenly--eyes, and Tip turned into a beautiful prince, all dressed in
embroidered green velvet; and down on his knees he fell at the
princess's feet, vowing love and fidelity untold.
"The fairy spread her wings over the young couple, saying, 'Behold the
reward of unselfishness!' and vanished, leaving them in all their
bliss."
Millie's story was greeted with shouts of applause and flattering
comments.
The boys were about renewing the fire, when Miss Walters announced
that it was seven o'clock.
"O, don't go yet!" shouted Phil from the wood-pile. "We've wood
enough for an hour yet. Seven o'clock's awful early."
"Don't go, don't go!" came from a chorus of voices; and Miss Walters,
who only cared for their comfort, said she would stay if that was the
general wish, or would go with any of the girls that were in haste to
get home. No one made any movement to go, and she was quietly led back
to her throne on the hay, at the entrance of the cave.
A song was proposed, and Miss W. led them in the sweet words of "In
the Beauty of the Lilies," the boys coming out strong with the chorus.
Then two girls sang a duet very sweetly. Another hour glided swiftly
away, when Miss Walters said, "Phil, your fire burns low; push the
blazing ends for a final blaze, so we may get all our things; for we
must go now."
Everything arranged, they bade good by to the hospitable cave, then
marched down the hill, the boys whistling "When Johnny comes marching
Home."
On they trudged, dropping various members of their little party as
they turned off to go to their homes. All agreed they had had a
delightful day.
F. E. S.
[Illustration: {The lynx, bear and eagle go after the hunters' buffalo
carcass}]
THE HAUNTS OF WILD BEASTS.
In crossing the forests which lie about that singular system of ponds
and lakes that occupy the northern interior of the State of Maine, the
tourist and hunter will often come upon well-beaten paths, running
through the woods, trodden hard, as if by the passage of myriads of
feet; and this in a region rarely, or never, entered by man. They are
the paths of wild beasts--bears, lynxes, wildcats, the moose, and the
carribou,--along which they pass from lake to lake, in pursuit of
their food, or upon hostile forays. When two lakes adjoin each other,
with no more than a mile or half a mile of forest between them, there
will nearly always be found, across the narrowest part of the isthmus,
a path of this sort, more or less worn, according as the locality
abounds with game, or the lakes with fish.
[Illustration: THE GRIZZLY BEAR.]
One of the widest and most used of these that I have ever seen, led
from the bank of Moose River up to the low shores of Holeb Pond, in
one of the not yet numbered townships near the Canada line--so near
that the high, dingy summit of the "Hog's Back" was plainly visible to
the north-westward. Starting out from between two large boulders on
the stream, which at this point is broken by rips, it runs crooking
and turning amid clumps of hazel and alder, till lost to view in a
wide flat, covered with "high bush" cranberries, but lost to sight
only, however; for its tortuous course still continues beneath the
thick shrubs, until at a distance of two hundred rods it emerges on
the pond.
Happening to cross it a year ago last autumn, in company with Rod
Nichols (my comrade on these tramps), the idea suggested itself that a
good thing might perhaps be done by setting our traps along the path.
For where there were so many passing feet, some of them might without
doubt be entrapped.
Rod thought it was the "beat" of some bears, or "lucivees," while I
inclined to the opinion that otters or "fishers" had made it.
So we brought up our traps,--half a dozen small ones, which we used
for sable and otter--from the dug-out (canoe) down on the stream, and
during the following afternoon set them at different points in the
path, between the border of the cranberry flat and the river. Then
drawing our canoe up out of the water, we encamped on the stream about
a mile below the path, and waited for the game.
Our stock of deer meat had got out. We had to content ourselves, both
for supper and breakfast, the following morning, with a couple of
hares--lean as usual. Who ever saw a fat hare?
Old hunters are always telling the young sportsman about the
marvellous properties of shaving-soap made from hare's tallow and
cedar ashes. The flesh has about as much taste and nutrition in it
as--so much paper pulp, for want of a better comparison to express its
utter lack of flavor. But during the forenoon we managed to shoot four
partridges. These we first parboiled in our camp kettle, then broiled
on coals. They made us a comfortable dinner; and towards sunset we
again paddled up the stream, to visit the traps.
Coming near where the path strikes out from the river, we drew up the
dug-out, and followed in to the place where we had set the first trap.
It was gone; but the grass about the spot was beaten down, and the
bushes broken. And on looking around, we discovered a trail leading
off through the weeds. Following this for ten or a dozen rods, we came
to a large, rough stone; and near it lay the trap, shattered and bent,
with the springs broken, and the jaws gaping and powerless. The stone,
too, looked newly scratched, as if from heavy blows. The trap had
evidently been beaten upon.
"Some large animal," said I.
"Bear, probably," said Rod. "They will frequently smash up a small
trap to get it off their feet."
Whatever it was, the creature had freed himself and gone. Rod picked
up the broken trap, and we went back, and on to the next.
This one was just as we had placed it--not sprung. So we kept on to
the third, which was sprung, but empty, with little clots of hair
clinging to the teeth. The hair looked like that of a sable; but he,
too, had escaped.
The fourth was sprung and drawn out of the path. We crept cautiously
up, and lo! we had a contemptible little musquash (muskrat)--skin not
worth a shilling. He was busy as a bee gnawing at his leg. In a few
minutes more he would have been at liberty--minus a foot. If left any
length of time after being caught, they will frequently gnaw off the
leg in the trap. For this reason, those who make a business of
trapping them set their traps under water, well weighted. They will
then drown in a few moments, and may thus be secured.
The last two traps were not sprung.
"A big thing this!" muttered Rod. "Had our labor for our pains. Too
bad."
We were near the edge of the cranberry flat; and just as Rod was
bemoaning our poor luck, a slight crackling out in the thick cranberry
bushes came to our ears.
"Hark!" whispered Rod; "something out there. The bear, perhaps."
Standing on tiptoe, we peeped quietly over the tops of the bushes, now
laden with the green cranberries. Off some seventeen or eighteen rods,
something was slowly moving. We could see it plainly--something which,
at first sight, looked like the roots of an old dry pine stump, a
great mass of stubs and prongs.
"A moose!" exclaimed Rod, in an eager whisper. "A moose browsing the
cranberries! Quick with your rifle! Together now!"
We both fired. The huge animal, fully nine feet in height beneath his
antlers, bounded into the air at the reports, with a wild, hoarse cry,
which I can compare to nothing I have ever heard for hideousness. In a
frightful way it resembled the neigh of a horse, or, rather, the loud
squeal of that animal when bitten or otherwise hurt--bounded up, then
fell, floundering and wallowing amid the cranberries, uttering
hideous moans.
As quickly as we could for the thick and tangled bushes, we made our
way out towards the spot. The fearful struggles stilled as we drew
near. Our aim, at so short a distance, had been thoroughly fatal. A
great opening in the bushes had been smashed down, in the midst of
which lay the moose, with its large nostrils dilated, gasping and
quivering. But its great ox eyes were set, and rapidly glazing. The
bushes were all besprinkled and drenched with blood. One bullet had
struck and broken the skull into the brain; that was Rod's. Mine had
gone into the breast, striking the lungs,--probably, from the profuse
bleeding.
"A pretty good shot!" exclaimed Rod, looking upon the slaughter from a
purely business stand-point. "Moosehide is always worth something. So
are those antlers. A noble set--aren't they? All of four feet broad
across the top. Pretty heavy to lug; we can put them in the canoe,
though."
"Then there's the meat," said I.
"That's so," cried Rod, smacking his lips. "No more rabbit's broth for
us at present. O, won't we have some grand moose steaks! Do you hear
that, old boy? How does that strike your fancy? Come, let's skin him,
and cut him up. I long to behold some of that surloin broiling! Rabbit
meat, indeed!" and Rod whipped out his hunting-knife, and fell upon
the carcass with the zeal of a hungry bald eagle.
In a few minutes we had stripped off the skin. Rod then wrenched off
the antlers, cut out the muffle (the end of the nose), and also about
a hundred weight of what he considered the choicest of the meat. The
rest of it--nine or ten hundred pounds--we could only leave where it
had fallen. It would be of no use to us, so far from the settled
lands.
[Illustration: THE TIGER.]
To carry our spoils down to our canoe, we had to make two trips; for
the antlers alone were as much as one could take along at once. We had
gone back after them and the hide.
"Too bad," remarked Rod, "to leave all this flesh here to rot above
ground."
"I doubt if it be left to rot above ground," said I. "There are too
many hungry mouths about for that."
"Right there," said Rod; "and that makes me think we might use it to
lure them, and to bait our traps with. Drag it out to the path, and
set the traps round it."
The idea seemed a good one. So we cut the remains of the carcass in
two. Whole it was too heavy to be moved. Then, fastening some stout
withes into them, we dragged the pieces, one after the other, out to
the path, and left it at the place where the path entered the
cranberry bushes. This done, we set the traps about it,--the remaining
five,--and then went back to the canoe with the antlers and skin.
"Made a very fair thing of it, after all," remarked Rod, as we floated
with the current down to our camp. "Tell you what, old fellow, these
steaks are not to be sneezed at. More than ordinary pot luck just at
this time."
It is needless to say that we fully satisfied our taste for venison
that night, or that our breakfast next morning was merely a repetition
of supper. Such things are to be expected in the wilderness. Suffice
it to add, that we neither overate nor overslept, but were up betimes,
and off to examine our traps considerably before sunrise. We did not
go up in the canoe on the river, but walked along the bank through the
woods.
"We may surprise a bear or a lynx at the carcass," said Rod.
So, as we drew near the place where we had left it in the path the
evening before, we made our way amid the brush with as little noise
as possible. A small hollow, overrun with hackmatack, led up towards
the spot. We crept along the bed of it, in order to approach
unobserved. Pausing a moment to listen, the clank of a chain came
faintly to our ears, then a growling, worrying noise, heard when two
creatures, jealous of each other's rights, eat from the same piece.
"Game!" whispered Rod.
Climbing quietly up the steep side, we peeped out from amid the green
boughs. We had got up within nine or ten rods; but intervening bushes
partially hid the carcass. Something was moving about it,
however--something black. The trap chains were rattling. Then a big
black head was raised, to growl; and as if in reply came a sharp snarl
from some animal out of sight. The black creature darted forward; and
a great uproar arose, growling, grappling, and spitting, at which
there flew up a whole flock of crows, cawing and hawing; and the noise
increasing, there sprang into the air, at a single flap, a great
yellow bird, uttering a savage scream.
"An eagle!" whispered Rod; "and that black creature's a bear, I guess.
Can't see him just plainly. Growls like one, though. Fighting with
some other animal--isn't he? Some sort of a cat, by the spitting."
"Shall we fire on them?" said I.
"No; let 'em have it out," said Rod. "One of them will be pretty sure
to get chewed up, and the other won't leave the carcass. Besides, the
cat's in the trap, I reckon, by the rattling." For the jingling of the
chain could still be heard over the howling they were making. But ere
the fight had lasted many seconds, a suppressed screech, followed by a
crunching sound, told ill for one or the other of the combatants. "The
cat's got his death hug," muttered Rod.
Presently the bear--a great, clumsy-looking fellow--came out into
view, strutted along, scrubbing his feet on the grass, like a dog, and
went back to the carcass. The eagle and the crows had come back to it.
They flew before him.
"Keep your eye on the eagle," whispered Rod. "I would like to get him.
It isn't a 'white head.' Never saw one like it."
The great bird circled slowly several times, then stooped, almost
touching the bear's shaggy back with its hooked talons. At that the
bear raised his ugly muzzle, all reeking from his feast, and growled
menacingly. This was repeated several times, the bear warning him off
at each stoop, and sometimes striking with his big paw. Finding the
bear not inclined to divide with him, the eagle, with one mighty flap
of his wings, rose up to the top of a tall hemlock standing near, and
perched upon it. We could see the branches bend and sway beneath his
weight.
"I'll have him now," muttered Rod, poking the muzzle of his rifle out
through the boughs. "You take the bear. Ready! now!"
We blazed away. With a wild shriek the eagle came tumbling down
through the hemlock. Rod ran out towards him, and I made up to the
bear. Old Bruin was merely wounded--an ugly flesh wound; and not
knowing whence it came, he had flown at the dead lynx,--for such it
turned out to be,--and was giving him another hugging. Seeing me, he
started up, to rectify his mistake, probably; but I had put in another
charge, and instantly gave him a quietus. Just then Rod came up,
dragging the eagle.
"Never saw one like it," exclaimed he. "I mean to take it down to
Greenville."