Fifty Years In The Northwest. William H. C. Folsom
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After river driving in the spring of 1835, I went to the Penobscot river and found employment at twenty dollars a month at East Great Works, building a dam. John Mills, our superintendent, was a good man. There was a lyceum here, the first I ever attended. In December I returned to the Kennebec, and in the spring of 1836 went to Dead river to drive, but an attack of the measles and general ill health, with symptoms of pulmonary derangement, compelled me to abandon the work. I had lived nine years on the Kennebec, years of hard labor and exertion beyond my strength, and in that time had earned enough to pay my father two hundred and fifty dollars. I had been able to purchase a small library, and had two hundred dollars in cash to defray my expenses to the West.
Reminiscences.—He that leaves the home of his youth for a strange land carries with him memories, pleasant to recall, of scenes and incidents, the influence of which he feels to the latest hour of life. There are some things he can not forget. They may not be an essential part of his own life history, but still they have found a place in his mind and seem a part of himself, and he recurs to them again and again with ever increasing delight. There are other things, may be, not so pleasant to dwell upon, which still have a place in his memory and may be profitably recalled. No one who has ever lived in Maine can forget its dark pine forests, its rugged hills, its rushing streams, cold and clear as crystal, its broad lakes, the abundant game of its forests and the fish in its waters. The Minnesota and Wisconsin pioneers, who with the author of this book claim Maine as an early home, will not object to the insertion in this chapter of a few of these reminiscences.
Moosehead Lake.—My first visit to Moosehead lake was in the early winter of 1834. At that time it was still in the wilderness, only two settlers having found their way to its shores. We were going with a six ox team to a camp on the Brasua and our road led us across the frozen lake. Emerging from a beech and maple grove on the margin near Haskell's, our sled plunged downward, and in a moment we found ourselves on the gray ice of the lake, with a wonderful panorama spread out before us. The distant islands and the shores, hilly and mountainous, stood out plainly between the winter sky and the ice covered lake. The mirage added its finishing touches to the picture, increasing the brightness and apparent size of distant objects, or lending them brilliant hues, the whole scene sparkling in the frosty sunlit air, making a vision of beauty that could not fade. On we trudged over the ice, the sled creaking, the ice emitting a roaring sound, not unlike the discharge of a park of artillery, sounds produced by the expansion of the ice. We trudged on past islands and craggy, rock-bound shores, passed Burnt Jacket, Squaw and Moxey mountains in the east, Lily and Spencer bays at the southeast, Misery and other mountains in the west, while far away to the north of east towered white old Katahdin. Before us loomed up the flint rock Kinneo, its perpendicular face fronting west, on the lake; at the base a beautiful maple interval extending toward Spencer bay.
The following spring our boom lay wind-bound at the base of Kinneo, and we seized the opportunity of climbing the vast pile of flinty rocks composing it, and obtained thence a view of unparalleled beauty, including the broad, bright lake, fairy islands, mountains and hills and vast stretches of pine forests. The tourist might seek far and wide, vainly, for a landscape rivaling this.
Moose Hunting.—The lake and surrounding country offer unrivaled attractions to the sportsman. The lake abounds in fish, of which the lake trout is the most abundant in number and delicious in flavor. Specimens are frequently taken weighing from ten to fifteen pounds. The forests at that time abounded in wild animals, chief of which was the moose, the largest and the homeliest of the deer family. With his long, narrow head, small eyes, donkey-like ears, pendant lips, the upper one curling like a small proboscis, with his high shoulders and giraffe-like hips, with his short, round body, long and clumsy legs, he is as distinguished for his want of grace and comeliness as the red deer is for its presence. No animal is better adapted for its own home and mode of life. Their heavy coat of hair adapts them to high latitudes. With their curved upper lip they take hold of the branches of the trees, and with their strong teeth and paws they are able to peel off the tender bark of saplings and small trees. The moose, when attacked, is fierce, resolute, defiant, and defends himself in a masterly manner, striking with his fore legs with such precision that the hunter is obliged to keep at a respectful distance. The male moose wears a remarkable pair of horns of annual growth, to which each year a prong is added. The home of the moose is the northern part of the North Temperate Zone.
Moose hunting is a healthy though laborious pastime. The hunter must be an expert, and it requires years of practice to become skillful. He must build his camp in the wilderness, packing thither his food, blankets, camp utensils and gun. With his pack of dogs he starts out in search of a moose yard. This is generally in some well timbered district. The snow in winter is generally from three to six feet deep, but the moose has broken paths through this to facilitate his movements through the forest, and here he roams about in fancied security, browsing on the young shrubs, but the hunter finds his hiding place. In such case he conceals himself in the snow near one of these paths and waits patiently till the moose passes, when he fires upon him. If the moose is killed at once the hunter waits patiently in his hiding place till another and another comes up to share a like fate. If the moose is only wounded he starts off as rapidly through the snow as his long legs will carry him, pursued by the hunter and his dogs. The hunter has all the advantages of the position, being mounted on snowshoes, thus being able to move with comparative swiftness, while the moose plunges heavily through the snow, and at last, weakened by loss of blood, he is overtaken and easily killed.
Mount Bigelow.—This is a noble, grand, historical mountain, situated on the south side of Dead river, in Franklin county. For years it had been my strong desire to make the ascent, and in May, 1833, the desire was gratified. With six others, I left camp, and by evening reached Green's hotel, where we obtained lodgings for the evening. At early dawn, having supplied ourselves with lunch, tin cup and hatchet, we began the ascent on the northeast side. We soon passed the thrifty timber and aided our ascent of the craggy sides of the mountain by clinging to the shrubs that found roothold in the crevices of the rocks. It may not be amiss to say that we rested, that we rested frequently, for mountain climbing is no light work for those unaccustomed to it. While toiling wearily upward we found ourselves enveloped in mist, or a cloud, from which we soon emerged to find the heavens above us clear and bright, while leaden clouds shut out the landscape below. At twelve o'clock, noon, we were on the summit. By this time the clouds had been dispersed. The air was clear and cold and beneath us lay, as in a beautiful panorama, the lands and lakes of Maine. There are two peaks, about half a mile apart, between which is a valley and a small lake. From the highest of these peaks the view was magnificent. In the far north we imagined we saw Canada. The vast, northern expanse was all unoccupied save by a few farms at the foot of the mountain, and by a few camps of lumbermen, hunters and trappers. Looking to the northeast, we saw in the blue distance, glittering with snow drifts, Mount Katahdin. A little north of the divide line to Katahdin lay Moosehead lake, the largest, most beautiful lake in Maine.
At this season of the year the snow had disappeared from the valleys and hills, but the summits of the mountains were still white. In all directions the scene was grand and inspiring. We could trace the Kennebec river in its windings to the sea and fancied we could see in the dim distance the blue Atlantic. To the southwest mountains seemed piled on mountains, while here and there in intermediate vales bright lakes reflected the blue of the upper deep. In this direction there were farms, but they looked like mere dots on the face of the earth. Lake Umbagog lay coiled in the shade of distant mountains in the southwest. We fancied that we could see the ragged crest of the white mountain still further beyond. The scene had also its historical associations. Along the base of this mountain, on the northwestern side, ere his name had been sullied by the foulest treason in our country's history, Benedict Arnold bravely led the Colonial troops in the campaign against Canada. With him, as an aid, was Col. Bigelow, whose name is given to the mountain. The gallant little army halted on the banks of Dead river at the base of the mountain, and made their camp. While the army was resting at this camp Lieut. Col. Bigelow ascended the mountain and planted his country's flag upon the highest peak, doubtless the first white man who made the ascent, and the mountain is his monument to-day. Around the site of the camp was planted the colony of Flagstaff.
While we were gazing on the magnificent scene, musing upon