Trails and Tramps in Alaska and Newfoundland Part 7

[Ill.u.s.tration: Learning to Walk]

This little family had not received many lessons in the way of providing for itself, and when we cut the ducklings off from their mother, fear was uppermost in all their actions. The instinct of fear gradually left them and in its place the instinct of hunger evidently gained the ascendancy. In the beginning they would swim and paddle over the water in great alarm, calling with a faint "quack, quack," trying to dive and distance their pursuers. Occasionally they would walk a little on the sh.o.r.e and then take to the water again. We followed them up and down until they finally seemed to pay little attention to us, and how interesting it was to watch them diving in the water for bugs and minnows to satisfy their hunger! Several times we saw them bring their prey, small minnows or mollusca, to the surface and swallow it. When we first met in the morning they could scarcely dive under the surface of the water. In the afternoon they would disappear for quite a while at a time, and as each in turn would appear and disappear they kept us guessing as to the duration and depth of their dives. Thus we left them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Reflections]

As we floated leisurely along, the trees skirting the edge of the forest cast upon the surface of the lake their long reflections of green, mingled with the red, blue, and purple of the sun's rays. We heard the harsh notes of the kingfisher (_Ceryle alcyon_) as it skimmed gracefully over the water and, ascending with a quick movement, perched on an old dead limb. With the field-gla.s.ses could be distinctly seen her belted markings of white, her ashy blue and rufous color, and her elevated occipital crest. She remained for some time motionless, according to her characteristic habit, when like a flash, with a rapid movement of her long, pointed wings, she made a plunge, disappeared for an instant, and then with a small fish made a graceful flight to her sylvan retreat.

Here she delights to build her nest in a perpendicular bank washed at the base by a swift current, a protection from intruders. Quietly the canoe entered the mouth of a little creek and at an abrupt bend there was almost a collision between the man in the boat and the kingfisher returning to its home. With a series of rattles, backing of pedals, and evolutions in the air, the frightened bird, naturally timid and of secluded habits, hastened away.

The gnarled and picturesque old birch, with its smooth white-spotted bark twisting and curling in every direction, covered with ages of moss and lichen, spread its drooping limbs gracefully over the water. Among the slender twigs, with their long-pointed, triangular, saw-toothed leaves, were many redpolls (_Acanthis linaria_) feeding on the brown buds, clinging in all conceivable positions, like boys picking cherries.

The day was hot, and late in the afternoon a warmer stratum of air saturated with vapor was being driven up the mountain-side. We knew by the uniform gray tint that a nimbus cloud was forming and we could expect a heavy rain erelong. As we glided over the smooth water of the lake, looking anxiously for a good temporary camp site, large drops of rain, spreading a silvery spray over the surface as they struck it, hastened our progress. Heading our craft direct for sh.o.r.e, the oarsman plied the oars with full force, expecting to make a jump to beach as the bow neared sh.o.r.e, but just about the time he straightened up the boat struck a rock and away he went, head first, over the duffel and into the water. A hearty laugh, and we were tugging away at the boat, doing our utmost to get out the tent and save harmless our bed and board.

Fortunately on the edge of the bank was a gra.s.sy spot large enough to spread a small wall tent. Having our tent-poles with us, already cut, we formed a crotch by tying ropes around the ends. The center pole was thrown into the crotch, and while I steadied the frame Charley slashed four pins out of young saplings, the four corners of the tent were staked down, and in less time than it takes to write it we had a good shelter for the outfit.

The rain was increasing while we rustled the outfit to cover. With the woods appet.i.te we hastened the frying pan onto the fire as the resinous smoke curled in rings gracefully away from the tent, and by the time the pan was hot and the solid chunks were aglow, speckled beauties, fresh from the riffles, were curling and drawing, but the rain-drops, sizzling and sputtering, marred their symmetry by making them stick to the pan.

In the meantime the forked pole was punched into the soft soil until it leaned at an angle above the fire, and the coffee-pot was soon boiling over, adding its sweet aroma to the already fragrant atmosphere.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Radiant Splendor]

It was evident that the weather was clearing up. Looking toward the purple foothills the air was rapidly taking up the vapor and mist, and the sun peeped out from its concealment, illuminating the lake with radiant splendor. We walked up the old lumber road, abandoned many years and almost covered with underbrush, to a deserted cabin, with its tumble-down roof and moss-grown sides. A small stream of pure, cold water gurgled as it disappeared under a decayed and broken corduroy bridge,--an ideal spot to cast for trout. A little beyond, the jack pines towered their heads high in the air, each vying with the other for supremacy over the light and sun. Close by stood a beautiful birch, which, after the manner of those who wear a band of black c.r.a.pe around the arm in respect for the memory of some dear one, wore a band of c.r.a.pe encircling its very trunk, in token of its own premature death. The work of a novice or the spirit of destruction was plainly evident, for the living cambium had been destroyed and pulled off with the bark. The wilful destruction of trees casts a sadness over me when I think how easy it is in a few moments to destroy that which it has taken the wise Creator years to develop. No wonder the spirit of conservation is spreading over the country!

A short cut through the woods disclosed timber in every stage of decay, from the tall, stately birch, frayed at the very top, like a bald-headed man, to the giant lying prostrate on the ground, uprooted by the wind years before and covered with moss and decaying leaves. As you step upon the moss, down you go to your knees into the rotten trunk, and it seems to say, "Dust thou art, to dust thou shalt return."

When we arrived at camp several Canada jays (_Perisoreus canadensis_) were in evidence, examining every nook and corner and exercising their well-known powerful instinct in this respect; in fact, their curiosity is so overpowering that they have no fear of man and in a short time become very tame. They are well-known camp robbers, and carry away everything that strikes their fancy. In this instance they were busy toting away into an old tree-top remnants of trout, both cooked and uncooked.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Whiskey Jack]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Nest and Eggs of the White-Throated Sparrow]

Towards evening, a dead stillness pervaded the air, broken occasionally by the "hoot, hoot" of an owl and the sharp smack of the beaver's tail on the water as he was disturbed in his night prowlings. Through the stillness came to us the sweet notes of the white-throated sparrow (_Zonotrichia albicollis_) roosting among the fragrant boughs of the balsam fir. His song may have been inspired by the changed and refreshing atmosphere, or perhaps he was inquiring about the welfare of his little mate as she brooded over her four wee brown-speckled eggs carefully laid in the small arched house on a cushion of moss lined with fine gra.s.s and rootlets.

Arranging our bed of balsam boughs, we were just about ready to blow out the light, when my half-breed guide, who held the candle in his hand, suggested that he offer up a little prayer. I a.s.sented to his desire and he knelt on the boughs with the candle in his hand, while with face upturned he remained silent in this suppliant att.i.tude for some time.

The mellow light of the candle on his swarthy, upturned face, amidst the quiet solemnity of the night, was very impressive and turned my earnest thought to the higher things of life. It touched me very deeply. I thought if this simple child of the forest had so much to be thankful for, how much more we, a happy, prosperous people.

Just as the half-risen sun kissed the tips of the mountains, we pushed our little craft from the sh.o.r.e. Gently the current caught the stern, and like a magnet drew the boat towards the head of the Lower Humber,--gently at first, but faster and faster as we neared the rapids.

The woodman with his ax had been at work. Floating silently with the current were two large tree-trunks felled by the ax of the lumberman.

The one, with grayish-brown bark, is known as the white spruce (_Picea canadensis_), a tree until recently of no value, its foliage nasty smelling, its wood soft and brittle. When burned it cracks and throws off sparks that eat holes in the wearing apparel of the camper-out. The other, with its white resinous bark, was the canoe birch (_Betula papyrifera_), which has given pleasure to man from time immemorial, and is used in so many ways by both Indian and white hunters. On the latter three white gulls, with their mantles of black, were standing with heads bowed, as though respectful mourners at the funeral of the n.o.ble birch that was moving faster and faster towards the rapids. About the time the log reached the brink of the boiling and seething waters the mourners left it to its fate. The current tossed and pitched it in every conceivable direction, and at last plunged it into the billows head-on, where it disappeared, and after being lost to sight for some time finally floated gracefully into an eddy not much the worse for wear and tear, turning around like an animate being, while the little voices of the forest seemed to unite in praise of their hero. The old spruce with its soft substance appeared tattered and torn--"unwept, unhonored, and unsung" by any except the new man--the pulp manufacturer.

At the head of the rapids we made a landing and walked through a beautiful strip of woods to select a camping-site. When we reached the foot of the rapids we found a place to our liking. I suggested to the half-breed that while he prepared a dwelling-place I would go and shoot the rapids with the boat. He positively refused to let me go, and in fact would not allow me to get in the boat for fear we should capsize, saying that several of those who had tried to run the river at this point had lost their lives. When I saw our little craft float the rapids like a duck and swing gracefully into the haven of safety, I naturally felt relieved. We pitched our tent on a gra.s.sy bank above the water where it surged back into an eddy, as though it was tired after its swift and tumultuous pa.s.sage over the bowlders, and longed to tarry for a short time to enjoy the quiet and peaceful pool. We spent several days in this locality, roaming among the spruce and pines. Under the secluded spruce the bunchberries (_Cornus canadensis_) love to grow and blossom.

After the flowers fade, from the whorls come cl.u.s.ters of red berries that, mingling with the moss, work out fantastic patterns on the beautiful natural carpet.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Bunchberries]

Into the pool were brought many insects, larvae, and frogs, which invited schools of speckled trout to enjoy the quiet waters where we took advantage of the natural haven for our little craft.

Toward evening a colony of tree swallows (_Tachycineta bicolor_) invaded the surrounding valley, feeding on the numerous insects. As we watched their flight the under white plumage looked like silver streaks. So rapid were their movements that the wings were scarcely perceptible, and when they skimmed the surface of the meadow and rose gracefully over the willows below us, the beautiful cerulean of their upper plumage so harmonized with the deep blue of a rainbow which spanned the heavens at that moment, that the air seemed to shimmer and sparkle with light and motion.

The tiger swallow-tail b.u.t.terflies (_Papilio turnus_) were very plentiful. The cook had thrown on the sh.o.r.e the heads and entrails of fish and by some unknown method the b.u.t.terflies were able to ascertain its location. During the afternoon some twenty-four b.u.t.terflies actually collected around the refuse and with their antennae sensed the dainties--shall I say?--that seemed to appeal to their taste. When one approached too close, all would take wing and the air was filled with yellow fancies as they scattered in all directions. They soon returned and seemed to bring their friends and neighbors with them, for at each flush they were more numerous than before.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The "Steady"]

The Humber looked calm and peaceful in the big "steady." How serene and beautiful the mountain appeared in Nature's mirror! How charmingly all the natural colors were reproduced in the reflection on the placid lake!

Even the purple foothills displayed their beauty as they clung to the weeping willows along the sh.o.r.e-line. Here and there the water was broken occasionally by the jumping of the salmon and trout on the way to the sp.a.w.ning-waters. The little brook, now full, came tossing, plunging, and pitching with a great noise down the mountain, and at its mouth, gracefully idling away the time, were thousands of trout jumping and splashing in the spray, waiting to strike and dart away with any larvae or bug that was caught by the onrush of the water. Under such conditions the angler could gather a rich harvest, for the trout takes the bait just as soon as it touches the water, and darts away, making the line "sizz" as it cuts through, breaking again and again until after a desperate struggle he gives up to the inevitable and is landed safely in the boat. Man is not the only creature familiar with this condition and the feeding habits of the fish. At the mouth of every stream the merganser loiters with her family to take toll; the kingfisher makes its morning call along the route; the loon, swimming gracefully around the projecting willows that quiver in the gentle current, disappears like a flash, and another is added to the tally; the osprey soaring through the air takes a dive beneath the surface and brings up one of the finny tribe, then makes a true line to the top of the old dead tree stump, where the young are waiting with stretched necks and open mouths to receive their allotment.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Solitude]

While we anch.o.r.ed to an old snag that had drifted with the current into an eddy, there appeared from the depths the head of a muskrat, moving gracefully around in a semicircle and throwing off little wavelets that broadened as they approached the sh.o.r.e. The cast of the fly frightened His Majesty, and with a "whack" of his tail on the water he disappeared, but erelong again came to the surface. What a contrast in the disposition of the muskrat and its cousin, the beaver! The latter loves solitude and builds its lodge in the most inaccessible places that can be found in the fastness of the uninhabited mountains and along some stream where the foot of man seldom treads. The other colonizes near civilization in some old dam or waterway thrown up by man. Under the protection of the law, beaver are becoming more plentiful, and occasionally at the mouths of little creeks can be seen limbs of birch and willow freshly peeled; if the winding course of the stream is followed, you are sure to come upon a dam, lately completed by a pair that have of their own accord left the old lodge to seek their fortune in a new home. The dam is usually constructed first and then the lodge a short distance above, and wonderful in the building of the dam and lodge is the skill of this little animal, known as the King of the Rodents.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Breakfast Head on the Humber River]

A little way below, the waters separated around an acreage of island that afforded protection for the homes of numerous gulls and fish ducks.

The undergrowth was very dense out to the edge of the perpendicular wall rock. The mergansers constructed on the ledge their shallow nests encircled with a ring of down. When approached they sailed gracefully along a descending plain a hundred yards beyond, closed their wings, skimmed elegantly over the water several yards and then floated about, perfect pictures of grace, beauty, and ease combined. Seal Cove loomed up in the distance with its two sides of perpendicular reddish sandstone. The gently sloping water front was the breeding-ground for quite a few harbor seals. They are naturally gregarious, and as we approached them one by one they slid into the water. In a few seconds, noiselessly a shiny black object resembling the head of a dog would come in sight some distance away, and scarcely a ripple of the displaced water marked the spot where the seal emerged. Again and again it appeared and disappeared until a mere speck in the distance. Climbing the rocks we saw remnants of numerous white woolly suits discarded by the newly-born baby seals before they took to the water, where with their brand-new spotted sealskin coats they could be seen sporting and playing before the big bulging, affectionate eyes of the mother. Seals love to spend a great deal of their time resting, sleeping, and sunning themselves on the rocks. Their hearing is not very acute and they can be approached easily by stalking. They are very tenacious of life and when shot must be killed instantly or they will slide into the water and disappear. My Indian guide shot a large bull around the region of the heart, and it would have reached the water although mortally wounded if the Indian had not caught hold of its flippers and pulled back with all his strength. All the time the bull was snapping viciously at him just like a dog. The northern seal is much prized by the natives for its economic value, its flesh, fat, and skin being in great demand. Seal hunting in these waters has been a great industry for years. The Newfoundlanders are a hardy race, and when hunting seal on the ice floes must endure great privations.

While at Bay of Islands an old sailer came into port with a young man aboard, penniless and very sick. He lived in the interior and the captain was trying to raise money to send him on the train to his home.

The lad knew he was going to die and was anxious to reach home to make amends to his old father and mother for seeking, against their wishes, a life on the seas. Pa.s.sengers contributed the money and sent word to the captain, but before the train arrived the poor boy died.

The train pulled in, not in due time, but several hours late. The conductor shouted "All aboard!" and as it slowly left the bay my thoughts turned homeward. It is then I begin to feel anxious about the folks at home and wonder if all is well.

CHAPTER V

HUNTING WITH A FERRET

Having many times tried with indifferent success to photograph the rabbit in his native fields and woods, I cast about for a means of stalking him at close range, and had for some time cherished the idea of taking a hunt with my kodak in a good tracking snow. Thus intent, I jumped from a pa.s.senger coach one day in the late fall, equipped with an Eastman twelve-shooter and ammunition enough to make a big bag.

I had left the station scarcely more than a couple of hundred yards behind along the public road, when I leaped a stake and rider fence, crossed a stubble field, bound for the bottom land. A field covered with tall, dry gra.s.s, right at the edge of a brier patch, looked a very likely place for cottontail. Just as I reached the little creek covered with ice, save where here and there the rippling water crossed the shallow, pebbly places, I struck a fresh trail. Carefully examining the footprints in the snow, which had fallen early the preceding day, I reached the conclusion, from the trodden condition of the ground and the little round brownish excrement lying here and there on the surface of the snow, that this was his playground and I must look elsewhere for the quarry. So I began a large circle around the brier patch to catch the trail to his bed. After pa.s.sing several times around the thicket, I finally discovered the latest trail out. Bunny usually travels by long jumps from the time he makes up his mind to retire for the day. The trail followed what seemed the most cautious route--under an old fallen tree, then two long jumps and into an abandoned ground-hog hole. I cut a pole with the intention, if possible, of routing Bunny from his quarters. About the time the pole was half way in, out he popped from an unexpected direction like a flash, made a dash for a brush heap nearby, and disappeared even before I could get the camera into action.

When a rabbit is once driven out of a hole, it seldom re-enters unless hard pressed by the dogs. I have trailed them in the snow for hours, reading the story from the footprints as they ran, now hopping along leisurely, now doubling and following old tracks under, through, and over logs. In one instance Br'er Rabbit showed considerable ingenuity in making a long side jump to a board fence and squatting where the color of fence and rabbit was almost the same, by this simple ruse eluding his pursuers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Color Blending]

Later I accidentally came upon some fellows who had put a ferret into a hole. In a short time he stuck his nose out, sniffing the air for the scent of the quarry, circling the open for the lost trail. When the owner made a slight movement towards him he instantly disappeared into the hole. For fully an hour the men tried in vain to catch him as he appeared alternately at either end of the tunnel. Gra.s.s had grown around the entrance, and the ferret was busy trying to carry enough into the hole to make a comfortable bed and take up his abode there, unceremoniously abandoning the snug quarters in his master's pocket. Several times they almost succeeded in getting hold of him by taking a bunch of gra.s.s and poking it towards him. This he would grab, hold until his owner had pulled him out almost far enough to catch him, then let go, sniffing as he scurried back out of reach. Finally they were obliged to try a new scheme, and one of them was sent to a neighboring house for a piece of fresh meat. They tied a string to the meat and lowered it into the hole; whereupon the ferret instantly s.n.a.t.c.hed it, and forgetting his late resolve, held on so tenaciously that the hunter soon had him back into the bag.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Putting in the Ferret]

On the second day out, the snow was fast disappearing from the open under the influence of a bright sunshine, though it was still quite deep in the woods and on the northerly slopes of the high hills. While looking for tracks I succeeded in gaining the confidence of another party of rabbit hunters who had a good dog and a "long pole," as they called it, and directly I obtained an invitation to accompany them as they hunted for signs of the little cottontail. I accepted with some hesitation, determined to take a few observations of the operations of modern "game hogs." Soon we heard the short, sharp bark of the old hound, indicating that a start had been made; and about the same time a shout rent the air, "Here he goes!" as the little white tail dodged in and out from one cover to another, disappearing in the distance with the old hound in hot pursuit and baying at every jump. Presently, in the language of the c.o.o.n-hunter, the dogs tongued "Treed," which in the dialect of the rabbit hunter is "Holed," and erelong the law breakers gathered around the hole at the root of the tree. I was hoping the tree was hollow and that the little rabbit who had made such a good long run for his life had climbed the tree and would be safe from the ferret, but my hopes soon vanished when I heard the rumbling noise, first faint in the depths, then coming nearer and nearer as he approached the opening.

A hasty scramble by the man on his knees, a m.u.f.fled "d----", a wish expressed that he had used his net, and the little rabbit was away again in a race for his life, minus a tail taken by the ferret and a patch of skin and hair taken from his back by the big fellow at the hole. Then follows a long chase during which the old dog overleaps a little bunch of gray as it squats in the gra.s.s. For, knowing that the enemy is fleet of foot and is likely to pa.s.s hurriedly by, overlooking in his haste the clod of color that blends with the dry gra.s.s, he crouches low and gains an opportunity to double on his tracks. His ruse misleads the pursuer for a short time at least and requires a halt in the chase, which gives the fugitive an opportunity to reach some oft-frequented harbor of refuge.

Again he is tracked to his hiding-place, and again the little bloodthirsty creature is turned loose to drive him from cover. Bunny, always on the alert, makes a bolt for his life with the ferret at his back and the old hound waiting at the other end of the hole to crush his life out. He stops a moment at the entrance as the dog makes a vicious snap at him, returns to meet his arch enemy, lets out a pitiful squeal, and meekly allows his life blood to be sucked without further resistance. His courage and dash are gone and he quietly submits to his cruel fate at the hands of the lawless "game hogs." After the entrance is dug out a long arm is extended into the hole and Bunny is slowly dragged forth with the ferret hanging on like grim death.

Again the biggest "game hog" of the party could be heard shouting to the dogs, "Whoop her up, Dan," urging them on the trail of another innocent little rabbit that has a slim chance for life.

While hunting for fresh signs we ran across a little cottontail hanging by his head, caught in a snare set by another type of hunters who bag their game by means of knife, twine, and apple. A nibble at the apple, the trap is sprung, and the noose tightens around his neck, dangling little cottontail in the air just low enough for his hind feet to touch the ground, and slow strangulation continues until life is extinct. In the morning when the trapper reaches his snare he finds the rabbit frozen stiff, with tongue protruding and eyes bulging from their sockets. Surely he is not without a pang of conscience as he gathers up his catch.

[Ill.u.s.tration: His Last Nibble]