Maine Woods — The Allegash & East Branch, Section 18
THE ALLEGASH AND EAST BRANCH
I started on my third excursion to the Maine woods Monday, July 20, 1857, with one companion, arriving at Bangor the next day at noon.
We had hardly left the steamer, when we passed Molly Molasses in the street.
As long as she lives, the Penobscots may be considered extant as a tribe.
The succeeding morning, a relative of mine, who is well acquainted with the Penobscot Indians, and who had been my companion in my two previous excursions into the Maine woods, took me in his wagon to Oldtown, to assist me in obtaining an Indian for this expedition.
We were ferried across to the Indian Island in a batteau.
The ferryman’s boy had got the key to it, but the father, who was a blacksmith, after a little hesitation cut the chain with a cold-chisel on the rock.
He told me that the Indians were nearly all gone to the seaboard and to Massachusetts, partly on account of the smallpox--of which they are very much afraid--having broken out in Oldtown, and it was doubtful whether we should find a suitable one at home.
The old chief Neptune, however, was there still.
The first man we saw on the island was an Indian named Joseph Polis, whom my relative had known from a boy, and now addressed familiarly as “Joe.
” He was dressing a deer-skin in his yard.
The skin was spread over a slanting log, and he was scraping it with a stick held by both hands.
He was stoutly built, perhaps a little above the middle height, with a broad face, and, as others said, perfect Indian features and complexion.
His house was a two-story white one, with blinds, the best-looking that I noticed there, and as good as an average one on a New England village street.
It was surrounded by a garden and fruit-trees, single cornstalks standing thinly amid the beans.
We asked him if he knew any good Indian who would like to go into the woods with us, that is, to the Allegash Lakes, by way of Moosehead, and return by the East Branch of the Penobscot, or vary from this as we pleased.
To which he answered, out of that strange remoteness in which the Indian ever dwells to the white man, “Me like to go myself; me wants to get some moose;” and kept on scraping the skin.
His brother had been into the woods with my relative only a year or two before, and the Indian now inquired what the latter had done to him, that he did not come back, for he had not seen nor heard from him since.
At length we got round to the more interesting topic again.
The ferryman had told us that all the best Indians were gone except Polis, who was one of the aristocracy.
He to be sure would be the best man we could have, but if he went at all would want a great price; so we did not expect to get him.
Polis asked at first two dollars a day, but agreed to go for a dollar and a half, and fifty cents a week for his canoe.
He would come to Bangor with his canoe by the seven o’clock train that evening,--we might depend on him.
We thought ourselves lucky to secure the services of this man, who was known to be particularly steady and trustworthy.
I spent the afternoon with my companion, who had remained in Bangor, in preparing for our expedition, purchasing provisions, hard-bread, pork, coffee, sugar, etc. , and some india-rubber clothing.
We had at first thought of exploring the St. John from its source to its mouth, or else to go up the Penobscot by its East Branch to the lakes of the St. John, and return by way of Chesuncook and Moosehead.
We had finally inclined to the last route, only reversing the order of it, going by way of Moosehead, and returning by the Penobscot, otherwise it would have been all the way upstream and taken twice as long.
At evening the Indian arrived in the cars, and I led the way while he followed me three quarters of a mile to my friend’s house, with the canoe on his head.
I did not know the exact route myself, but steered by the lay of the land, as I do in Boston, and I tried to enter into conversation with him, but as he was puffing under the weight of his canoe, not having the usual apparatus for carrying it, but, above all, was an Indian, I might as well have been thumping on the bottom of his birch the while.
In answer to the various observations which I made by way of breaking the ice, he only grunted vaguely from beneath his canoe once or twice, so that I knew he was there.
Early the next morning (July 23) the stage called for us, the Indian having breakfasted with us, and already placed the baggage in the canoe to see how it would go.
My companion and I had each a large knapsack as full as it would hold, and we had two large india-rubber bags which held our provision and utensils.
As for the Indian, all the baggage he had, beside his axe and gun, was a blanket, which he brought loose in his hand.
However, he had laid in a store of tobacco and a new pipe for the excursion.
The canoe was securely lashed diagonally across the top of the stage, with bits of carpet tucked under the edge to prevent its chafing.
The very accommodating driver appeared as much accustomed to carrying canoes in this way as bandboxes.
At the Bangor House we took in four men bound on a hunting excursion, one of the men going as cook.
They had a dog, a middling-sized brindled cur, which ran by the side of the stage, his master showing his head and whistling from time to time; but after we had gone about three miles the dog was suddenly missing, and two of the party went back for him, while the stage, which was full of passengers, waited.
I
suggested that he had taken the back track for the Bangor House.
At length one man came back, while the other kept on.
This whole party of hunters declared their intention to stop till the dog was found; but the very obliging driver was ready to wait a spell longer.
He was evidently unwilling to lose so many passengers, who would have taken a private conveyance, or perhaps the other line of stages, the next day.
Such progress did we make, with a journey of over sixty miles to be accomplished that day, and a rain-storm just setting in.
We discussed the subject of dogs and their instincts till it was threadbare, while we waited there, and the scenery of the suburbs of Bangor is still distinctly impressed on my memory.
After full half an hour the man returned, leading the dog by a rope.
He had overtaken him just as he was entering the Bangor House.
He was then tied on the top of the stage, but being wet and cold, several times in the course of the journey he jumped off, and I saw him dangling by his neck.
This dog was depended on to stop bears with.
He had already stopped one somewhere in New Hampshire, and I can testify that he stopped a stage in Maine.
This party of four probably paid nothing for the dog’s ride, nor for his run, while our party of three paid two dollars--and were charged four--for the light canoe which lay still on the top.
It soon began to rain, and grew more and more stormy as the day advanced.
This was the third time that I had passed over this route, and it rained steadily each time all day.
We accordingly saw but little of the country.
The stage was crowded all the way, and I attended the more to my fellow-travelers.
If you had looked inside this coach you would have thought that we were prepared to run the gauntlet of a band of robbers, for there were four or five guns on the front seat, the Indian’s included, and one or two on the back one, each man holding his darling in his arms.
One had a gun which carried twelve to a pound.
It appeared that this party of hunters was going our way, but much farther,--down the Allegash and St. John, and thence up some other stream, and across to the Restigouche and the Bay of Chaleur, to be gone six weeks.
They had canoes, axes, and supplies deposited some distance along the route.
They carried flour, and were to have new bread made every day.
Their leader was a handsome man about thirty years old, of good height, but not apparently robust, of gentlemanly address and faultless toilet; such a one as you might expect to meet on Broadway.
In fact, in the popular sense of the word, he was the most “gentlemanly” appearing man in the stage, or that we saw on the road.
He had a fair white complexion, as if he had always lived in the shade, and an intellectual face, and with his quiet manners might have passed for a divinity student who had seen something of the world.
I was surprised to find, on talking with him in the course of the day’s journey, that he was a hunter at all,--for his gun was not much exposed,--and yet more to find that he was probably the chief white hunter of Maine, and was known all along the road.
He had also hunted in some of the States farther south and west.
I afterwards heard him spoken of as one who could endure a great deal of exposure and fatigue without showing the effect of it; and he could not only use guns, but make them, being himself a gunsmith.
In the spring, he had saved a stage-driver and two passengers from drowning in the backwater of the Piscataquis in Foxcroft on this road, having swum ashore in the freezing water and made a raft and got them off,--though the horses were drowned,--at great risk to himself, while the only other man who could swim withdrew to the nearest house to prevent freezing.
He could now ride over this road for nothing.
He knew our man, and remarked that we had a good Indian there, a good hunter; adding that he was said to be worth . The Indian also knew him, and said to me, “the great hunter.
” The former told me that he practiced a kind of still-hunting, new or uncommon in those parts; that the caribou, for instance, fed round and round the same meadow, returning on the same path, and he lay in wait for them.
The Indian sat on the front seat, saying nothing to anybody, with a stolid expression of face, as if barely awake to what was going on.
Again I was struck by the peculiar vagueness of his replies when addressed in the stage, or at the taverns.
He really never said anything on such occasions.
He was merely stirred up, like a wild beast, and passively muttered some insignificant response.
His answer, in such cases, was never the consequence of a positive mental energy, but vague as a puff of smoke, suggesting no _responsibility_, and if you considered it, you would find that you had got nothing out of him.
This was instead of the conventional palaver and smartness of the white man, and equally profitable.
Most get no more than this out of the Indian, and pronounce him stolid accordingly.
I was surprised to see what a foolish and impertinent style a Maine man, a passenger, used in addressing him, as if he were a child, which only made his eyes glisten a little.
A tipsy Canadian asked him at a tavern, in a drawling tone, if he smoked, to which he answered with an indefinite “Yes.
” “Won’t you lend me your pipe a little while?
” asked the other.
He replied, looking straight by the man’s head, with a face singularly vacant to all neighboring interests, “Me got no pipe;” yet I had seen him put a new one, with a supply of tobacco, into his pocket that morning.
Our little canoe, so neat and strong, drew a favorable criticism from all the wiseacres among the tavern loungers along the road.
By the roadside, close to the wheels, I noticed a splendid great purple fringed orchis with a spike as big as an epilobium, which I would fain have stopped the stage to pluck, but as this had never been known to stop a bear, like the cur on the stage, the driver would probably have thought it a waste of time.
When we reached the lake, about half past eight in the evening, it was still steadily raining, and harder than before; and, in that fresh, cool atmosphere, the hylodes were peeping and the toads ringing about the lake universally, as in the spring with us.
It was as if the season had revolved backward two or three months, or I had arrived at the abode of perpetual spring.
We had expected to go upon the lake at once, and, after paddling up two or three miles, to camp on one of its islands; but on account of the steady and increasing rain, we decided to go to one of the taverns for the night, though, for my own part, I should have preferred to camp out.
About four o’clock the next morning (July 24), though it was quite cloudy, accompanied by the landlord to the water’s edge, in the twilight, we launched our canoe from a rock on the Moosehead Lake.
When I was there four years before, we had a rather small canoe for three persons, and I had thought that this time I would get a larger one, but the present one was even smaller than that.
It was 18¼ feet long by 2 feet 6½ inches wide in the middle, and one foot deep within, so I found by measurement, and I judged that it would weigh not far from eighty pounds.
The Indian had recently made it himself, and its smallness was partly compensated for by its newness, as well as stanchness and solidity, it being made of very thick bark and ribs.
Our baggage weighed about 166 pounds, so that the canoe carried about 600 pounds in all, or the weight of four men.
The principal part of the baggage was, as usual, placed in the middle of the broadest part, while we stowed ourselves in the chinks and crannies that were left before and behind it, where there was no room to extend our legs, the loose articles being tucked into the ends.
The canoe was thus as closely packed as a market-basket, and might possibly have been upset without spilling any of its contents.
The Indian sat on a cross-bar in the stern, but we flat on the bottom, with a splint or chip behind our backs, to protect them from the cross-bar, and one of us commonly paddled with the Indian.
He foresaw that we should not want a pole till we reached the Umbazookskus River, it being either deadwater or down-stream so far, and he was prepared to make a sail of his blanket in the bows if the wind should be fair; but we never used it.
It had rained more or less the four previous days, so that we thought we might count on some fair weather.
The wind was at first southwesterly.
Paddling along the eastern side of the lake in the still of the morning, we soon saw a few sheldrakes, which the Indian called _Shecorways_, and some peetweets, _Naramekechus_, on the rocky shore;
we also saw and heard loons, _Medawisla_, which he said was a sign of wind.
It was inspiriting to hear the regular dip of the paddles, as if they were our fins or flippers, and to realize that we were at length fairly embarked.
We who had felt strangely as stage-passengers and tavern-lodgers were suddenly naturalized there and presented with the freedom of the lakes and the woods.
Having passed the small rocky isles within two or three miles of the foot of the lake, we had a short consultation respecting our course, and inclined to the western shore for the sake of its lee; for otherwise, if the wind should rise, it would be impossible for us to reach Mount Kineo, which is about midway up the lake on the east side, but at its narrowest part, where probably we could recross if we took the western side.
The wind is the chief obstacle to crossing the lakes, especially in so small a canoe.
The Indian remarked several times that he did not like to cross the lakes “in littlum canoe,” but nevertheless, “just as we say, it made no odds to him.
” He sometimes took a straight course up the middle of the lake between Sugar and Deer islands, when there was no wind.
