Читать книгу Adventures of an Angler in Canada, Nova Scotia and the United States - Charles Lanman - Страница 4

Table of Contents

The Catskill Mountains—South Peak Mountain—A thunder storm—Midnight on the Mountains—Sunrise—Plauterkill Clove—Peter Hummel—Trout fishing—Stony Clove—The Kauterskill Fall—The Mountain House—The Mountain Lake.

Plauterkill Clove. May.

I commence this chapter in the language of Leather-Stocking: “You know the Catskills, lad, for you must have seen them on your left, as you followed the river up from York, looking as blue as a piece of clear sky, and holding the clouds on their tops, as the smoke curls over the head of an Indian chief at a council-fire.” Yes, every body is acquainted with the names of these mountains, but few with their peculiarities of scenery. They are 2 situated about eight miles from the Hudson, rise to an average elevation of thirty-five hundred feet, and running in a straight line from north to south, cover a space of some twenty-five miles. The fertile valley on the east is as beautiful as heart could desire; it is watered by the Kauterskill, Plauterkill and Esopus Creeks, inhabited by a sturdy Dutch yeomanry, and is the agricultural mother of Catskill, Saugerties and Kingston. The upland on the west, for about forty miles, is rugged, dreary, and thinly settled; but the winding valley of Schoharie beyond, is possessed of many charms peculiarly American. The mountains themselves are covered with dense forests, abounding in cliffs and waterfalls, and for the most part untrodden by the footsteps of men. Looking at them from the Hudson, the eye is attracted by two deep hollows, which are called “Cloves.”

CATSKILL MOUNTAINS.

The one nearest to the Mountain House, Kauterskill Clove, is distinguished for a remarkable fall, which has been made familiar to the world by the pen of Bryant and the pencil of Cole; but this Clove is rapidly filling up with human habitations; while the other, Plauterkill Clove, though yet possessing much of its original glory, is certain of the same destiny. The gorge whence issues the Esopus, is among the Shaudaken mountains, and not visible from the Hudson.

My nominal residence, at the present time, is at the mouth of Plauterkill Clove. To the west, and only half a mile from my abode, are the beautiful mountains, whose outlines fade away to the north, like the waves of the sea when covered with a visible atmosphere. The nearest, and to me the most beloved of these, is called South Peak. It is nearly four thousand feet high, and covered from base to summit with one vast forest of trees, varying from eighty to a hundred feet in height. Like its brethren, it is a wild and uncultivated wilderness, abounding in all the interesting features of mountain scenery. Like a corner stone does it stand at 4 the junction of the northern and western ranges of the Catskills, and as its huge form looms against the evening sky, it inspires one with awe, as if it were the ruler of the world: and yet, I have learned to love it as a friend. I have pondered upon its impressive features, when reposing in the noon-tide sunshine, when enveloped in clouds, when holding communion with the most holy night, and when trembling under the influence of a thunder-storm, and encircled by a rainbow. It has filled my soul with images of beauty and sublimity, and made me feel the omnipotence of God.

A day and night was it lately my privilege to spend upon this mountain, accompanied by a poet-friend. We started at an early hour, equipped in our brown fustians, and laden with well-filled knapsacks, one with a hatchet in his belt, and the other with a brace of pistols. We were bound to the extreme summit of the peak, where we intended to spend the night, witness the rising of the sun, and return at our leisure on the following day. But when I tell you, that our course lay right up the almost perpendicular side of the mountain, where was no path save that formed by a torrent or a bear, you will readily believe it was somewhat rare and romantic. But this was what we delighted in; so we shouted “Excelsior,” and commenced the 5 ascent. The air was excessively sultry, and the very first effort we made, caused the perspiration to start most profusely. Upward, upward was our course; now climbing through a tangled thicket, or under the spray of a cascade, and then again supporting ourselves by the roots of saplings or scrambling under a fallen tree; now, like the samphire gatherer, scaling a precipice; and then again clambering over a rock, or “shinning” up a hemlock tree, to reach a desired point.

Our first halt was made at a singular spot called Hunter’s Hole, which is a spacious cavern or pit, forty feet deep and twenty wide, and approached only by a fissure in the mountain, sufficiently large to admit a man. Connected with this place, is the following story.

Many years ago, a farmer, residing at the foot of the mountain, having missed a favourite dog, and being anxious for his safety, called together his neighbours and offered a reward for the safe return of his canine friend. Always ready to do a kind deed, a number of them started in different directions for the hunt. A barking sound having been heard to issue from this cavern, it discovered that the lost dog was at the bottom, where he had most probably fallen while chasing a fox. “But how shall he be extricated from this hole?” was the 6 general enquiry of the now-assembled hunters. Not one of all the group would venture to descend under any circumstances; so that the poor animal remained a prisoner for another night. But the next morning he was released, and by none other than a brave boy, the son of the farmer, and playmate of the dog. A large number of men were present on the occasion. A strong rope was tied around the body of the child, and he was gently lowered down. On reaching the bottom, and finding by the aid of his lamp, that he was in a “real nice place,” the little rogue concluded to have some sport; whereupon he proceeded to pull down more rope, until he had made a coil of two hundred feet, which was bewildering enough to the crowd above; but nothing happened to him during the adventure, and the dog was rescued. The young hero having played his trick so well, it was generally supposed, for a long time after, that this cavern was two hundred feet deep, and none were ever found sufficiently bold to enter in, even after a fox. The bravery of the boy, however, was eventually the cause of his death, for he was cut down by a leaden ball in the war of 1812.

The next remarkable place that we attained in ascending South Peak, was the Bear Bank, where, in the depth of winter may be found an abundance 7 of these charming creatures. It is said, that they have often been seen sunning themselves, even from the hills east of the Hudson. We were now under a beetling precipice, three hundred feet high, and there, under the shadow of a huge pine, we enjoyed a slice of bread and pork, with a few drops of the genuine mountain dew.

Instead of a dessert of strawberries and cream, however, we were furnished, by venerable dame Nature, with a thunder-storm. It was one that we had noticed making a great commotion in the valley below. It had probably discovered two bipeds going towards its home, the sky, and seemed to have pursued us with a view of frightening us back again. But “knowing that nature never did betray the heart that loved her,” we awaited the thunderstorm’s reply to our obstinate refusal to descend. The cloud was yet below us, but its unseen herald, a strong east wind, told us that the conflict had commenced. Presently a peal of thunder resounded through the vast profound, which caused the mountain to tremble to its deep foundation. And then followed another, and another, as the storm increased, and the rain and hail poured down in floods.

Thinking it safer to expose ourselves to the storm than remain under the pine, we retreated without delay, when we were suddenly enveloped in the 8 heart of the cloud, only a few rods distant; then, a stroke of lightning blinded us, and the towering forest monarch was smitten to the earth. We were in the midst of an unwritten epic poem about that time, but we could not appreciate its beauties, for another peal of thunder, and another stroke of lightning attracted our whole attention. Soon as these had passed, a terrible gale followed in their wake, tumbling down piles of loose rocks, and bending to the dust, as if in passion, the resisting forms of an army of trees; and afterwards a glorious rainbow spanned the mountain, appearing like those distinguishing circles around the temples of the mighty and holy, as portrayed by the painters of old. The commotion lasted for one hour, when the region of the Bear Bank became as serene as the slumber of a babe. A spirit of silent prayer was brooding upon the earth and in the air; and with a shadow of thoughtfulness at our hearts, we resumed our upward march.

Our next halting place was upon a sort of peninsula, called the Eagle’s Nest, where, it is said, an Indian child was formerly carried by one of those birds, and cruelly destroyed, and whence the frantic mother, with the mangled body of her babe, leaped into the terrible abyss below. From this point, we discovered a host of clouds assembled in council above High Peak, as if discussing the parched 9 condition of the earth, and the speediest mode of affording relief to a still greater extent than they had done; and far away to the west, was another assembly of clouds, vieing like sportive children, to outrun and overleap each other in their aerial amphitheatre.

After this, we surmounted another point called Rattlesnake Ledge. Here the rocks were literally covered with the white bones of those reptiles, slaughtered by the hunter in by-gone years, and we happened to see a pair of them that were alive. One was about four feet long, and the other, which was only about half as large, seemed to be the offspring of the old one, for, when discovered, they were playing together like an affectionate mother with her tender child. Soon as we appeared in their presence, the serpents immediately ceased their sports, and in the twinkling of an eye they coiled themselves in the attitude of battle. The conflict was of short duration, and to know the result you need only look into my cabinet of curiosities.

Higher yet was it our lot to climb. We went a little out of our course to obtain a bird’s-eye view of a mountain lake. In its tranquil bosom the glowing evening sky and mountain sides were vividly reflected, and the silence surrounding it was so profound, that we could almost hear the 10 ripples made by a solitary duck, as it swam from one shore to the other in its utter loneliness. Very beautiful, indeed, was this picture; and as I reflected upon it, I thought that, as the Infant of Bethlehem was tenderly protected by the parents who watched over its slumbers, so was this exquisite lake cradled and protected in the lap of the mountains.

One sight more did we behold before reaching the summit of South Peak. It was the sunset hour, and on a jutting cliff, which commanded an immense view, our eyes were delighted by the sight of a deer, standing still, and looking down upon the silent void below, which was then covered with a deep purple atmosphere, causing the prospect to resemble the boundless ocean. It was the last of its race, we could not but fancy, bidding the human world good night, previous to seeking its heathery couch in a nameless ravine.

One effort more, and the long-desired eminence was attained; and we were a little nearer the evening star than we had ever been before. It was now the hour of twilight, and as we were about done over with fatigue, it was not long before we had pitched our leafy tent, eaten some supper, and yielded ourselves to the embrace of sleep,

“Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health.”

At midnight, a cooling breath of air having passed across my face, I was awakened from a fearful dream, which left me in a nervous and excited state of mind. A strange and solemn gloom had taken possession of my spirit, which was greatly enhanced by the doleful song of a neighbouring hemlock grove. Our encampment having been made a little below the summit of the Peak, and feeling anxious to behold the prospect at that hour from that point, I awakened my companion, and we seated ourselves upon the topmost rock, which was nearly bare of shrubs, but covered with a rich moss, softer and more beautiful than the finest carpet.

But how can I describe the scene that burst upon our enraptured vision. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before, creating a lone, lost feeling, which I supposed could only be realized by a wanderer in an uninhabited wilderness, or on the ocean, a thousand leagues from home. Above, around, and beneath us—ay, far beneath us—were the cold, bright stars, and to the eastward, the “young moon with the old moon in her arms.” In the west were floating a little band of pearly clouds, which I almost fancied to be winged chariots, and that they were crowded with children, the absent and loved of other years, who, in a frolic 12 of blissful joy, were out upon the fields of heaven. On one side of us reposed the long, broad valley of the Hudson, with its cities, towns, villages, woods, hills, and plains, whose crowded highway was diminished to a narrow girdle of deep blue. Towards the south, hill beyond hill, field beyond field, receded to the sky, occasionally enlivened by a peaceful lake. On our right, a multitudinous array of rugged mountains lay piled up, apparently as impassable as the bottomless gulf. To the north, Old High Peak, king of the Catskills, bared his bosom to the moonlight, as if demanding and expecting the homage of the world. Strange and magnificent, indeed, was the prospect from that mountain watch-tower; and it was with reluctance that we turned away, as in duty bound, to slumber until the dawn.

The dawn! And now for a sunrise picture among the mountains, with all the illusive performances of the mists and clouds. He comes! he comes! the “king of the bright days!”

Now the crimson and golden clouds are parting, and he bursts on the bewildered sight. One moment more, and the whole earth rejoices in his beams, falling alike, as they do, upon the prince and the peasant of every land. And now, on either side and beneath the sun, an array of new-born 13 clouds are gathering, like a band of cavaliers, preparing to accompany their leader on a journey. Out of the Atlantic have they just arisen; at noon they will have pitched their tents on the cerulean plains of heaven; and when the hours of day are numbered, the far-off waters of the Pacific will again receive them in its cool embrace.

Listen! was not that the roar of waves? Naught but the report of thunder in the valley below. Are not the two oceans coming together? See! we are on a rock, in the midst of an illimitable sea, and the tide is surely rising—rising rapidly! Strange! it is still as death, and yet the oceans are covered with billows. Lo! the naked masts of a ship, stranded on a lee-shore; and yonder, as if a reef were hidden there to impede their course, the waves are struggling in despair, now leaping to the sky, and now plunging into a deep abyss! And when they have passed the unseen enemy, how rapid and beautiful are their various evolutions, as they hasten to the more distant shore.

Another look, and what a change! The mists of morning are being exhaled by the risen sun; already the world of waters is dispersed, and in the valley of the Hudson, far far away, are reposing all the enchanting features of the green earth.

We descended the mountain by a circuitous 14 route, that we might enjoy the luxury of passing through Plauterkill Clove. The same spring that gives rise to Schoharie Creek, which is the principal tributary of the Mohawk, also gives rise to the Plauterkill. In its very infancy it begins to leap and laugh with the gladness of a boy. From its source to the plain, the distance is only two miles, and yet it has a fall of twenty-five hundred feet; but the remainder of its course, until it reaches the Esopus, is calm and picturesque; and on every side, and at every turn, may be seen the farm-houses of a sturdy yeomanry.

The wild gorge, or dell, through which it passes, abounds in waterfalls of surpassing beauty, varying from ten to a hundred feet in height, whose rocks are green with the moss of centuries, and whose brows are ever wreathed with the most exquisite of vines and flowers. Here is the Double Leap, with its almost fathomless pool, containing a hermit trout, that has laughed at the angler’s skill for a score of years; the Fall of the Mountain Spirit, haunted, as it is said, by the disembodied spirit of an Indian girl, who lost her life here, while pursuing a phantom of the brain; and here is the Blue Bell Fall, for ever guarded by a multitudinous array of those charming flowers. Caverns, too, and chasms are here, dark, deep, chilly, and damp, 15 where the toad, the lizard, and snake, and strange families of insects, are perpetually multiplying, and actually seeming to enjoy their loathsome lives; and here is the Black Chasm and the Devil’s Chamber, the latter with perpendicular walls, twice the height of Old Trinity, and with a wainscoting of pines and hemlocks, which have “braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze.” Plauterkill Clove is an eddy of the great and tumultuous world, and in itself a world of unwritten poetry, whose primitive loveliness has not yet been disfigured by the influence of Mammon. It has been consecrated by a brotherhood of friends, well tried and true, to the pure religion of nature; and after spending a summer day therein, and then emerging under the open sky, their feelings are always allied to those of a pilgrim in a strange land, passing through the dreamy twilight of an old cathedral.

But it is time that I should change my tune, as I desire to record a few fishing adventures, which I have lately experienced among the Catskills. My first excursion was performed along the margin of Sweetwater Brook, which flows out of the lake already mentioned. My guide and companion was a notorious hunter of this region, named Peter Hummel, whose services I have engaged for all my future rambles among the mountains. He is decidedly 16 one of the wildest and rarest characters I have ever known, and would be a valuable acquisition to a menagerie. He was born in a little hut, at the foot of South Peak, is twenty-seven years of age, and has never been to school a day in his life, or, in his travels towards civilization, further away from home than fifteen miles. He was educated for a bark-gatherer, his father and several brothers having always been in the business; but Peter is averse to common-place labour, to anything, in fact, that will bring money.

When a boy of five years, he had an inkling for the mountains, and once had wandered so far, that he was found by his father, in the den of an old bear, playing with her cubs. To tramp among the mountains, with gun and dog, is Peter’s chief and only happiness. He is probably one of the best specimens of a hunter now living; and very few, I fancy, could have survived the dangers to which he has exposed himself. As to his constitution, he seems to be one of those iron mortals, who never die with age and infirmity, but who generally meet with a sudden death, as if to recompense them for their heedlessness. But with all his wildness and recklessness, Peter Hummel is as amiable and kind-hearted a man as ever breathed. He is an original wit, withal, and shrewd and very 17 laughable are many of his speeches; and his stories are the cream of romance and genuine mountain poetry.

But to my story. As usual, we started on our tramp at an early hour, he with a trout-basket in his hand, containing our dinner, and I with my sketch-book and a “pilgrim staff.” After a tiresome ascent of three hours, up a mountain path, over ledges and through gloomy ravines, we at last reached the wished-for brook. All the day long were we cheered by its happy song, as we descended, now leaping from one deep pool to another, and now scrambling over green-coated rocks, under and around fallen trees, and along the damp, slippery sides of the mountain, until we reached its mouth on a plain, watered by a charming river, and sprinkled with the rustic residences of the Dutch yeomanry. We were at home by sunset, having walked the distance of twenty miles, and captured one hundred and fifty trout, the most of which we distributed among the farm-houses in our way, as we returned. The trout were small, varying from three to eight ounces in weight, and of a dark brown colour.

On another occasion, I had taken my sketch-book and some fishing-tackle, and gone up a mountain road to the banks of Schoharie Creek, 18 nominally for the purpose of sketching a few trees. In the very first hole of the stream into which I accidentally peered, I discovered a large trout lying near the bottom, just above a little bed of sand, whence rose the bubbles of a spring. For some thirty minutes I watched the fellow with a “yearning tenderness;” but as he appeared to be so very happy, and I was in a kindred mood, I thought that I would let him live. Presently, however, a beautiful fly lighted on the water, which the greedy hermit swallowed in a minute, and returned to his cool bed with his conscience, as I fancied, not one whit troubled by what he had done. Involuntarily I began to unwind my line; and having cut a pole, and repeated to myself something about “diamond cut diamond,” I whipped on a red hackle and passed it over the pool. The rogue of a trout, however, saw me, and scorned for awhile to heed my lure. But I coaxed and coaxed, until at last he darted for it, apparently out of mere spite. Something similar to a miniature water-spout immediately arose, and the monarch of the brook was in a fair way of sharing the same fate which had befallen the innocent fly. I learned a salutary lesson from this incident, and as I had yielded to the temptation of the brook, I shouldered my sketch-book and descended the stream. At 19 noon I reached a farm-house, where I craved something to eat. A good dinner was given me, which was seasoned by many questions, and some information, concerning trout. That afternoon, in company with a little boy, I visited a neighbouring stream, called the Roaring Kill, where I caught one hundred and sixty fish. I then returned to the farm-house, and spent the evening in conversation with my new acquaintances. After breakfast, on the following morning, I set out for home, and reached there about noon, having made only two additions to my sketches. Long shall I remember the evening spent with this family, and their hospitality towards an entire stranger. A pleasant family was that night added to my list of friends.

Another of my trouting pilgrimages was to a famous place, called Stony Clove, among the mountains of Shaudaken. It is a deep perpendicular cut, or gorge, between two mountains, two thousand feet in depth, from twenty feet to four hundred in width, and completely lined, from base to summit, with luxuriant vegetation. It is watered by a narrow but deep brook, which is so full of trout, that some seven hundred were captured by myself and two others in a single day. When I tell you that this spot is only about one hundred miles from New York, you will be surprised to 20 learn, that in its immediate vicinity we saw no less than two bears, one doe with two fawns, and other valuable game.

In some parts of this Clove the sunshine never enters, and whole tons of the purest ice may be found there throughout the year. It is, indeed, a most lonely and desolate corner of the world, and might be considered a fitting type of the Valley of the Shadow of Death; in single file did we have to pass through it, and in single file do the sons of men pass into the grave. To spend one day there, we had to encamp two nights; and how we generally manage that affair I will mention presently.

In returning from Stony Clove, we took a circuitous route, and visited the Mountain House. We approached it by the way of the celebrated Kauterskill Fall, which I will describe to you in the graphic language of Cooper, as you may not remember the passage in his “Pioneer.” “Why there’s a fall in the hills, where the water of two little ponds, that lie near each other, breaks out of their bounds, and runs over the rocks into the valley. The stream is, may be, such a one as would turn a mill, if so useless a thing was wanted in the wilderness. But the Hand that made that ‘Leap’ never made a mill! There the water comes croaking 21 and winding among the rocks, first so slow that a trout might swim in it, and then starting and running, just like any creature that wanted to make a fair spring, till it gets to where the mountain divides, like the cleft foot of a deer, leaving a deep hollow for the brook to tumble into. The first pitch is nigh two hundred feet, and the water looks like flakes of snow afore it touches the bottom, and then gathers itself together again for a new start, and, may be, flutters over fifty feet of flat rock, before it falls for another hundred, where it jumps from shelf to shelf, first running this way and that way, striving to get out of the hollow, till it finally comes to the plain.”

Our party, on this occasion, consisted of three, Peter Hummel, a bark-gatherer, and myself. I had chosen these fellows for the expedition, because of their friendship for me and their willingness to go, and I resolved to give them a “treat” at the “Grand Hotel,” which the natives of this region look upon as a kind of paradise. The reader is no doubt aware, that the Mountain House is an establishment vieing in its style of accommodation with the best of hotels.

Between it and the Hudson there is, during the summer, a semi-daily line of stages; and it is the transient resort of thousands, who visit it for the novelty of its situation, as well as for 22 the surrounding scenery. The edifice itself stands on a cliff, within a few feet of the edge, and commands a prospect extending from Long Island Sound to the White Mountains. The first time I visited the spot, I spent half the night at my bed-room window, watching the fantastic performances of a thunder-storm far below me, which made the building tremble like a ship upon a reef, while the sky above was cloudless, and studded with stars. Between this spot and South Peak, “there’s the High Peak and the Round Top which lay back, like a father and mother among their children, seeing they are far above all the other hills.”

But to proceed. Coarsely and comically dressed as we were, we made a very unique appearance as we paraded into the office of the hotel. I met a few acquaintances there, to whom I introduced my comrades; and in a short time each one was spinning a mountain legend to a crowd of delighted listeners. In due time, I ushered them into the dining-hall, where a scene was enacted which can be better imagined than described; the fellows were completely out of their element, and it was laughable in the extreme to see them stare, and hear them talk, as the servants bountifully helped them to the turtle-soup, ice-cream, charlotte-russe, and other fashionable dainties.

About the middle of the afternoon we commenced 23 descending the beautiful mountain road leading towards the Hudson. In the morning there had been a heavy shower, and a thousand happy rills attended us with a song. A delightful nook on this road is pointed out as the identical spot where Rip Van Winkle slept away a score of his life. I reached home in time to spend the twilight hour in my own room, musing upon the much-loved mountains. I had but one companion, and that was a whip-poor-will, which nightly comes to my window-sill, as if to tell me a tale of its love, or of the woods and solitary wilderness.

But the most unique and interesting of my fishing adventures remains to be described. I had heard a great deal about the good fishing afforded by the lake already mentioned, and I desired to visit it, and spend a night upon its shore. Having spoken to my friend Hummel, and invited a neighbour to accompany us, whom the people have named “White Yankee,” the noontide hour of a pleasant day found us on our winding march; and such a grotesque appearance as we made, was exceedingly amusing. The group was mostly animated when climbing the steep and rocky ravines which we were compelled to pass through. There was Peter, “long, lank and lean,” and wild in his attire and countenance as an eagle of the wilderness, with an axe in his hand, 24 and a huge knapsack on his back, containing our provisions and utensils for cooking. Next to him followed White Yankee, with three blankets lashed upon his back, a slouched white hat on his head, and nearly a half pound of tobacco in his mouth. Crooked legged withal, and somewhat sickly was this individual, and being wholly unaccustomed to this kind of business, he went along groaning, grunting, and fuming, as if he was “sent for, and didn’t want to come.” In the rear trotted along your humble friend, with a gun upon his shoulder, a powder-horn and shot-pouch at his side, cow-hide boots on his feet, and a cap on his head—his beard half an inch long, and his flowing hair streaming in the wind.

We reached our place of destination about five o’clock, and halted under a large impending rock, which was to be our sleeping place. We were emphatically under the “shadow of a rock, in a weary land.” Our first business was to build a fire, which we did with about one cord of green and dry wood. Eighty poles were then cut, to which we fastened our lines. The old canoe in the lake was bailed out, and having baited our hooks with the minnows we had brought with us, we planted the poles in about seven feet water, all around the lake shore. We then prepared and ate our supper, and 25 awaited the coming on of night. During this interval, I learned the following particulars concerning the lake. It was originally discovered by a hunter, named Shew. It is estimated to cover about fifty acres, and in the centre, to be more than two hundred feet in depth. For my part, however, I do not believe it contains over five acres, though the mountains which tower on every side but one, are calculated to deceive the eye; but, as to its depth, I could easily fancy it to be bottomless, for the water is remarkably dark. To the number of trout in this lake there seems to be no end. It is supposed they reach it, when small, through Sweetwater Brook, when they increase in size, and multiply. It also abounds in green and scarlet lizards, which are a serious drawback to the pleasures of the fastidious angler. I asked Peter many questions concerning his adventures about the lake, and he told me that the number of “harmless murders” he had committed here was about three hundred. In one day, he shot three deer; at another time, a dozen turkeys; at another, twenty ducks; one night, an old bear; and again, half a dozen coons; and, on one occasion, annihilated a den of thirty-seven rattlesnakes.

At nine o’clock, we lighted a torch and went to examine our lines; and it was my good fortune to 26 haul out not less than forty-one trout, weighing from one to two pounds a-piece. These, we put into a spring of very cold water, which bubbled from the earth a few paces from our camping place, and then retired to repose. Branches of hemlock constituted our couch, and my station was between Peter and White Yankee. Little did I dream, when I first saw these two bipeds, that I should ever have them for my bed-fellows; but who can tell what shall be on the morrow? My friends were in the land of Nod in less than a dozen minutes after we had retired; but it was hard for me to go to sleep in the midst of the wild scene which surrounded me. There I lay, flat on my back, a stone and my cap for a pillow, and wrapt in a blanket, with my nose exposed to the chilly night air. And what pictures did my fancy conjure up, as I looked upon the army of trunks around me, glistening in the fire-light! One moment they were a troop of Indians from the spirit-land, come to revisit again the hunting grounds of their fathers, and weeping because the white man had desecrated their soil; and again, I fancied them to be a congress of wild animals, assembled to try, execute, and devour us, for the depredations our fellows had committed upon their kind during the last one hundred years. By and by, a star peered upon me from between the 27 branches of a tree, and my thoughts ascended heavenward. And now, my eyes twinkled and blinked in sympathy with the star, and I was a dreamer.

An hour after the witching time of night, I was startled from my sleep by a bellowing halloo from Peter, who said it was time to examine the lines again. Had you heard the echoes which were then awakened, far and near, you would have thought yourself in enchanted land. But there were living answers to that shout, for a frightened fox began to bark, an owl commenced its horrible hootings, a partridge its drumming, and a wolf its howl. There was not a breeze stirring, and

“Nought was seen, in the vault on high,

But the moon, and the stars, and a cloudless sky,

And a river of white in the welkin blue.”

Peter and Yankee went out to haul in the trout, but I remained on shore to attempt a drawing, by moonlight, of the lake before me. The opposite side of the mountain, with its dark tangled forest, was perfectly mirrored in the waters below, the whole seeming as solid and variegated as a tablet of Egyptian marble. The canoe with its inmates noiselessly pursued its way, making the stillness more profound. In the water at my feet I distinctly saw lizards 28 sporting about, and I could not but wonder why such reptiles were ever created. I thought, with the Ancient Mariner,

“A thousand slimy things lived on,

And so did I.”

Again did we retire to rest, slumbering until the break of day. We then partook of a substantial trout breakfast, gathered up our plunder, and with about one hundred handsome trout started for home.

The accidents we met with during the night were harmless, though somewhat ridiculous. A paper of matches, which Peter carried in his breeches’ pocket, took fire, and gave him such a scorching that he bellowed lustily. White Yankee, in his restless slumber, rolled so near our watch-fire, that he barely escaped with one corner of his blanket, the remainder having been consumed. As for me, I only fell into the water among the lizards, while endeavouring to reach the end of a log, which extended into the lake. In descending the mountain, we shot three partridges, and confoundedly frightened a fox; and by the middle of the afternoon, were quietly pursuing our usual avocations among our fellow-men of the lower world.