“Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?”
REDEEMED FROM STARVATION.--THE FIRST HABITATION ON THE AROOSTOOK.--MR.
BOTTING’S HOUSE.--THE TOUROGRAPH ASTONISHES THE NATIVES.--PURCHASING
SUPPLIES AT MASARDIS.--HOMEWARD BOUND.--AU REVOIR!
When I turned out the next morning the first thing I heard was an
exclamation from the Colonel.
“What a jolly place for trout!”
“Trout!” we echoed. “You don’t mean it?”
[Illustration: A WAITING BREAKFAST.]
“I do, every time, my hearties,” responded the Colonel, as he cast
his line far out on the surface of a dark foam-flecked pool at the
junction of the two rivers. The next instant we saw his rod bend like
a whip-lash, and as the speckled prize which weighed above two pounds
shot up out of the stream five hungry men fastened their eyes on it
with ravenous fascination, and smacked their jaws in anticipation of a
breakfast.
“Bravo, Colonel! Do it again!” we cried, as the trout was landed; and
verily he did it again and again, while we did them all to a brown in
the frying-pan.
During a few days rest here we secured a number of views, hunted
partridges, and captured four fine beaver. Aside from the value of the
pelts of the latter animals, they placed us once more beyond the chance
of starvation; and having lived for a month almost entirely on their
flesh, we had learned by experience that it was better than nothing.
We still retained the “shoes” on our canoes, for although each day the
Aroostook River grew deeper and wider, we were obliged to repeat the
experiences of Mansungun Stream.
On we paddled, day after day. Soon we passed the junction of the
Mooseleuk and Aroostook Rivers, and great was our joy when at last we
caught sight of the first house since leaving Chamberlin Lake.
From an architectural point of view it would hardly have interested the
humblest carpenter, but to our longing eyes it was the assurance of
perils over and the hardest part of the tour accomplished.
A rough log cabin, with barn adjoining, and a few acres of cleared land
constituted the farm of one Philip Painter. Here, as I was focussing
the camera for a picture, a mother and three children gazed on me from
the window, and viewed my operations with astonishment.
[Illustration: THE FIRST HOUSE ON THE AROOSTOOK RIVER.]
But being still over one hundred miles from the end of our voyage, the
tarry was of short duration.
The Colonel, however, in prowling about the farm, found time to fill
his pockets with a quantity of small apples, no larger than nutmegs,
and about as digestible. He distributed them among the party as we were
returning to the boats, imagining that he had made a glorious capture.
“Splendid, aren’t they?” he said, as we began to munch them.
“Anything for a change from beaver stews,” I replied. “I feel that I
could take to boot-leg cheerfully.”
A mile further on another farm appeared, perched upon a high bluff.
“We must take this place by storm!” cried the Colonel. “We must find a
straight North American meal if we perish in the attempt,” and he led a
gallant advance toward the farm house.
Mr. Botting, the proprietor of the place, appeared in answer to our
hail and greeted us with a stare of open-eyed wonder. The first words
he spoke were in company with a jerking action of his thumb toward the
Tourograph.
“What kind of a machine do ye call that?” he asked, eyeing the
instrument with a profound glance.
“This,” said the Colonel, hastening to explain, “is the improved
Gatling gun.”
“An’ ye’ve come all the way to this God-forsaken hole to sell it?” said
the man. “What’s it fur, anyhow?”
“Cats,” replied the Colonel, with the gravest expression in the world.
“Wal, we ain’t got no cats round here,” said the man. “Haint seen the
ghost o’ one in years.”
“Don’t believe him,” I said, interposing, “It’s not a Gatling gun; it
is a camera--an instrument for taking pictures--likenesses.”
“Oh!” drawled the man, “I see! He-he! Queer lookin’ affair, ain’t it?
Looks like one o’ these patent coffee-grinders I seed down at ’Guster
(Augusta) when I was there last.”
“Sir, you insinuate,” said the Colonel. “We have had neither sight nor
taste of coffee in weeks, and we don’t sport a coffee-grinder for bare
admiration’s sake, we can tell you.”
“Which brings us to our business,” said I. “We have just come from
Moosehead Lake. Can you get up a dinner for the crowd?”
“Wal, yes, I guess so,” said the man in a half-dubious tone, as he took
in the calibre of the party.
Then, beckoning us to follow, he hobbled back into the house, where
after an hour’s tarry we were served with a dinner that hardly paid
for the time lost in eating it. It consisted of bread, potatoes, and
tea sweetened with molasses; but, like the apples, even this was “a
change” from beaver stews.
[Illustration: “CAN YOU GET UP A DINNER FOR THE CROWD?”]
“Must a-had a dry time, gen’lmen,” he said, as he busied himself
attending to us. “Didn’t find much water, I guess. Never did see the
’Roostook run down so low in all my life, an’ I’ve lived on this ’ere
river now nigh on thirty-seven year. I’m seventy odd year old, but
only for a lame hip I’ve got I could tramp through the woods with the
best o’ ye.”
“You must have some trouble in working your farm,” remarked the
Colonel, surveying the fields in front of the door.
“Oh, no; not much. I raise sons to do it. I’ve got eleven as likely
boys as you ever did see; but I lost one in the war--poor feller!” as
in a husky tone of voice he pointed to a framed certificate of his
son’s war services.
Sixteen miles more of vigorous paddling brought us to the town of
Masardis, the post-office of the county, and landing on the shore among
a number of dug-outs and batteaux, we entered the village.
“Where is the store?” inquired the Colonel, as he crossed the street
and rapped at the door of one of the houses.
“Don’t have any,” said the lady who answered his call, surprised at her
visitor.
“Well, can you sell us some flour, potatoes and coffee?” and then the
Colonel unrolled his memorandum of much needed camp supplies.
At this house we purchased flour, at another potatoes, at another
coffee, no two articles being had at the same place, while chickens at
twenty-five cents each were sold “on the run,” the Colonel and Hiram
securing them after an energetic race.
[Illustration: BIRD TRAPPING MADE EASY.]
An old lady of seventy summers, who sold me a box of honey and was very
communicative, said during a short but delightful conversation--“I
suppose you have heaps more people down in Connecticut than we have
in this town; but I don’t believe they are half so happy as our
townsfolks. Oh, no! they can’t be near so happy--except, well--except
on election days;” and a sad expression came over her wrinkled
countenance, for the smaller the town, the greater is the feeling on
politics in Maine.
[Illustration: “SEVENTY SUMMERS.”]
The river now widens to a distance of over one hundred and fifty feet,
and day after day shows a gradual increase in its depth and power.
The current sweeps us swiftly onward through rapids innumerable in
the full excitement of canoe life, but occasionally we are forced to
disembark and drag our canoes over a rocky beach, which obliges us to
retain the “shoes.”
At our various camps we are visited by the inhabitants along the route,
who in return for the history of our tour entertain us with news of the
outside world, from which we have been separated for so many weeks.
Then we begin to realize that we are homeward bound.
An invitation to one of these callers, requesting the honor of his
company at breakfast was accepted (with avidity), although, as he
remarked, “the old woman was waiting to serve that meal for him on
yonder hill.”
[Illustration: A PEEP AT THE STRANGERS.]
On passing the towns of Ashland and Washburn, the foamy and discolored
appearance of the stream gave evidence of the potato starch
manufactories in the vicinity.
The strangest peculiarity of the inhabitants was their utter ignorance
of the country and its surroundings.
These people, living on the river, could not give us the faintest idea
of distances to points along the shore.
“Hello, stranger!” yelled the Colonel, as rounding a bend in the stream
he spied a man standing in one of the log-houses that dot the banks;
“can you tell us how far it is to the next town?”
“Dunno, friend; but its nigh on ten miles by the road.”
Another gave the same answer, while a third did not know the name of
the next town, although he had lived five years in the country--a
parallel to the Virginian woodsman who stalked forth from his native
pines one day to learn that there had been such a catastrophe in the
history of his country as the war of the Rebellion.
“Wake up, boys,” yelled the Colonel, arousing the party (4 A. M.) at
our last camp near Washburn, where we turned out in the dark to partake
of a hasty breakfast before embarking.
[Illustration: PRESQUE ISLE--CIVILIZATION IN FOCUS.]
“If we are going to make forty-five miles to Caribou to day, we must
make hay while the sun shines,--or while it doesn’t shine,” he added,
as he took notice of the darkness.
Soon we were gliding down the swift stream, avoiding the huge rocks
dimly appearing through the mist, until at last the rising sun
dispelled the darkness.
At Presque Isle we landed, and while the guides were preparing dinner,
I climbed a neighboring hill with my Tourograph and secured a picture
of the scene.
Hour after hour we labored at the paddles, until they seemed almost a
part of ourselves; the “shoes” on our canoes retarded us not a little.
The sun was creeping down the western sky, and the tall pines on the
bluffs above us threw their lengthening shadows across the stream,
as doubling the last bend we shot the canoes along side the wharf
at Caribou, and completed our tour of over four hundred miles from
Moosehead Lake to the Aroostook River.
Here we took the cars.[B]
[Footnote B: Since this canoe tour was completed the railroad has been
extended to the town of Presque Isle, at which point tourists can leave
the Aroostook River, saving themselves a tedious paddle of about
twenty-two miles to Caribou.]
A delegation of the “big people” of the vicinity saw us off.
[Illustration: VALEDICTORY.]
At the parting moment they seemed visibly affected, as our sketch shows.
As we crossed the line at Fort Fairfield the following day on our way
to Woodstock, New Brunswick, the custom house officer found nothing in
our kit to reward his examination, although he displayed much curiosity
in the leather case containing the camera.
“You must have had a fine time,” he remarked.
“Yes,” was the reply, “save building dams and shoeing canoes.”
While the Indian ejaculated--
“Me think so, too; yes!”
In the whirl of the outside world the weeks fleet by as with the
swiftness of a day, but in the solitude of the wilds it seems a longer
lease of time.
It is like an age since we took leave of civilization and plunged into
the heart of the forests. Now, out of the depths, with a bound we are
again in the noise of the busy world.
Mighty trees, primeval rocks with draperies of vine and moss and
lichen, tumbling cascades, rushing streams, and all the forest’s wealth
of color, form and music disappear like magic.
Presto! what a change!
From the sigh and rustle of the grand old pines list to the rattle of
rail cars, the shriek of whistles, and hum of machinery in the mills
and factories.
From the croon of the night-bird, that with the distant star has often
been my only company in the dark hours while my comrades slept, list
to the bark of dogs and crow of cocks, as we rush past town and hamlet
through the night and early morn. We are out of the wilds. Farewell,
Nature! Welcome, Home!
“There is a pleasure in the pathless wood,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrude--
* * * * *
To sit on rocks, to muse o’er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest’s shady scene,
Where things that own not man’s dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne’er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
* * * * *
Alone o’er steep and foaming falls to lean--
This is not solitude; ’tis but to hold
Converse with Nature’s charms and view her stores unrolled.”
[Illustration]
THE MOST ARTISTIC AND CHARMING BOOK OF THE SEASON.
CANOE AND CAMERA.
[Illustration]
A Photographic and Descriptive Tour of Two Hundred Miles through the
Maine Forests.
_By THOMAS SEDGWICK STEELE, of Hartford, Conn._
SIXTY BEAUTIFUL SCENERY AND CHARACTER ILLUSTRATIONS BY WELL-KNOWN
ARTISTS, INCLUDING TRUE WILLIAMS, BENJAMIN DAY, AUG. WILL, AND OTHERS,
TOGETHER WITH NEW MAPS OF THE STATE, EXPRESSLY PREPARED FOR THE WORK,
WHICH PRESENT THE LATEST EXPLORATIONS OF THE AUTHOR AND HIS EXPERIENCED
GUIDES.
WHAT IS SAID OF “CANOE AND CAMERA.”
FOREST AND STREAM says: “It is a superb volume. One of the most
attractive summer books of the year. The mechanical work is of the
very highest standard. The country explored and described comprised
the region of the East Branch of the Penobscot River--a territory
rich in beautiful scenery and well supplied with game and fish. It is
admirably adapted to canoeing. Mr. Steele is no amateur in the camp
and on the jaunt. He has explored the wilds of Florida, the forests
of Lake Superior, Wisconsin, and has camped beside the Rangeleys. An
enthusiastic sportsman, he communicates this spirit to his book, and
writes in a vein which leads the reader unconsciously to sympathize
with him in his description of a striking landscape, his spirited
accounts of a capture of a fish, or the running of a rapid, and in his
philosophical and outspoken sentiments regarding the ethics of the camp
and field.”
CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER, the eminent author, writes concerning this
volume: “Canoe and Camera, by Mr. Thomas Sedgwick Steele, is one of the
handsomest books of the season, and reflects great credit on the taste
of the author, the printer, and the binder. It is seldom that a book is
so fully and so well illustrated. Many of the drawings are charming,
and many of them are not only picturesque, but interesting, as views of
wild scenery which the author describes.”
THE ADVANCE, Chicago.--“A delightful book, delightfully gotten up,
is Canoe and Camera, an illustrated description of a 200-miles tour
through the Maine forests. There are instructions as to the best modes
of reaching and traversing this wild, romantic region, and the accounts
of the routes, the fishing regions, the adventures, and the scenery,
with the sixty illustrations and the 20 x 25 in. map, almost make the
reader feel that he takes the trip in his easy chair, without any of
its attendant drawbacks.”
THE INDEPENDENT, N. Y.--“It is a lively narrative of adventure, with
abundant illustrations, and is altogether a charming volume.”
BOSTON JOURNAL.--“The book is written in the best of temper, in a fresh
and breezy style, and with a zest that marks a true sportsman.”
1 vol. Crown 8vo. Cloth. $1.50.
Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price, by
ESTES & LAURIAT, Publishers,
301 to 305 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON, MASS.
JUST PUBLISHED.
A NEW MAP OF THE
HEADWATERS OF THE
AROOSTOOK, PENOBSCOT, AND ST. JOHN RIVERS,
MAINE,
COMPILED BY
THOMAS SEDGWICK STEELE,
HARTFORD, CONN.
AUTHOR OF
CANOE AND CAMERA; OR, TWO HUNDRED MILES THROUGH THE
MAINE FORESTS.
PADDLE AND PORTAGE, FROM MOOSEHEAD LAKE TO THE AROOSTOOK
RIVER, ETC., ETC.
What is said of the Map by the well-known Sportsman’s Paper, “FOREST
AND STREAM.”
“A NEW MAP OF NORTHERN MAINE.--Mr. Thomas Sedgewick Steele, author
of ‘Canoe and Camera’ and other works, has just compiled one of the
most satisfactory maps of the great canoe tours of Northern Maine yet
published. This chart is 20 x 30 inches, printed on Government Survey
paper, mounted on cloth, and is an invaluable aid to the sportsman
tourist in these wild regions,--in fact, to such an individual it is a
most necessary adjunct to the economy of his camp kit. From the extreme
lower portion of the map covered by Moosehead Lake diverge the great
rivers of this vast wilderness,--the Main St. John, Aroostook, and East
and West Branches of the Penobscot, while a portion of Canada on the
north and New Brunswick on the east is embraced within its boundaries.
Great care has been exercised in noting many points along these
routes, which, although of the greatest importance to the canoeist,
are seldom brought within the scope of the ordinary map. Along the
Main St. John every log house and portage seems to be conscientiously
indicated, while the many falls of the picturesque East Branch are
noted, to the advantage and caution of the voyageur of these waters.
After leaving the farms at Chesuncook and Chamberlin Lake the tourist
to the Aroostook paddles about two hundred miles through the wilderness
before reaching a sign of civilization, the first house being that of
Philip Painter, while the second habitation, one mile further on, is
that of William Botting, situated on the right bank, at a bend of the
Aroostook River, called the Oxbow. Innumerable lakes and ponds are
spread out before one on this chart like shot holes in a target. These
and many other points of interest recommend this new survey of Mr.
Steele to the camper-out in the wilds of Maine. The map is published
by Estes & Lauriat, of Boston, and is mailed, post-paid, for $1.00 per
copy.”--_Forest and Stream._
PRICE, $1.00.
Sent, post-paid, on receipt of price, by
ESTES & LAURIAT, Publishers,
301-305 WASHINGTON STREET, BOSTON, MASS.