BOATING.

I do not propose to say much about boating, as the subject can hardly have justice done to it in a book of this sort. Parties of young men spend their summer vacation every year in camping and boating. It is a most delightful way,—superior in many respects to any other,—but it requires both experience and caution, neither of which is usually found in young men. So I hope that, if you will go in a boat, you may be an exception to the general rule, and will, for your parents' and friends' sake, take a small boat without ballast rather than a large one ballasted so heavily that it will sink when it fills.

When you belay the sheets of your sail, make a knot that can be untied by a single pull at the loose end: any boatman will show you how to do this. Never make fast the sheets in any other way. Hold the sheets in your hands if the wind is at all squally or strong. Do not venture out in a heavy wind. Stow your baggage snugly before you start: tubs made by sawing a flour-barrel in two are excellent to throw loose stuff into. Remember to be careful; keep your eyes open, and know what you are going to do before you try it. The saying of an old sea-captain comes to me here: "I would rather sail a ship around the world, than to go down the bay in a boat sailed by a boy."

RECKONING LOST.

It often happens in travelling, that the sun rises in what appears the north, west, or south, and we seem to be moving in the wrong direction, so that when we return home our remembrance of the journey is confused. Perhaps a few hints on this subject may help the reader. Supposing your day's journey ends at Blanktown, where you find your compass-points apparently reversed. It then becomes natural for you to make matters worse by trying to lay out in your mind a new map, with Blanktown for the "hub," and east in the west, and so on. You can often prevent these mishaps, and can always make them less annoying, by studying your map well both before and during your journey; and by keeping in your mind continually, with all the vividness you can, what you are really doing. As far as Blanktown is concerned, you will have two impressions, just as we all have two impressions with regard to the revolution of the earth on its axis: apparently the sun rises, goes over and down; but in our minds we can see the sun standing still, and the earth turning from west to east.

Upon leaving Blanktown you are likely to carry the error along with you, and to find yourself moving in what appears to be the wrong way. Keep in mind with all the vividness possible, the picture of what you are really doing, and keep out of mind as much as you can the ugly appearance of going the wrong way. Every important change you make, be sure to "see it" in the mind's eye, and let the natural eye be blind to all that is deceiving. After a while things will grow real, and you must try to keep them so. The more perfectly you know the route and all its details, the less you will be troubled in this way.

If you are travelling in the cars, and if you have a strong power of imagination, you can very easily right errors of this kind by learning from the map exactly what you are doing, and then by sitting next to the window, shut your eyes as you go around a curve that tends to aggravate the difficulty, and hold fast what you get on curves that help you. If you sit on the left side of the car, and look ahead, the cars seem to sweep continually a little to the right, and vice versa, when really moving straight ahead,—provided your imagination is good.

When you are travelling on an unknown road, you should always inquire all about it, to avoid taking the wrong one, which you are likely to do, even if you have a good map with you.

LADIES AS PEDESTRIANS.

I have once or twice alluded to ladies walking and camping. It is thoroughly practicable for them to do so. They must have a wagon, and do none of the heavy work; their gowns must not reach quite to the ground, and all of their clothing must be loose and easy.[23] Of course there must be gentlemen in the party; and it may save annoyance to have at least one of the ladies well-nigh "middle-aged." Ladies must be cared for more tenderly than men. If they are not well, the wagon should go back for them at the end of the day's march; shelter-tents are not to be recommended for them, nor are two blankets sufficient bedclothing. They ought not to be compelled to go any definite distance, but after having made their day's walk let the tents be pitched. Rainy weather is particularly unpleasant to ladies in tents; deserted houses, schoolhouses, saw-mills, or barns should be sought for them when a storm is brewing.

LADIES AND CHILDREN IN CAMP.

In a permanent camp, however, ladies, and children as well, can make themselves thoroughly at home.[24] They ought not to "rough it" so much as young men expect to: consequently they should be better protected from the wet and cold.

I have seen a man with his wife and two children enjoy themselves through a week of rainy weather in an A-tent; but there are not many such happy families, and it is not advisable to camp with such limited accommodations.

Almost all women will find it trying to their backs to be kept all day in an A-tent. If you have no other kind, you should build some sort of a wall, and pitch the tent on top of it. It is not a difficult or expensive task to put guy-lines and a wall of drilling on an A-tent, and make new poles, or pitch the old ones upon posts. In either case you should stay the tent with lines running from the top to the ground.

It has already been advised that women should have a stove; in general, they ought not to depart so far from home ways as men do.

Rubber boots are almost a necessity for women and children during rainy weather and while the dew is upon the grass.

SUMMER-HOUSES, SHEDS, AND BRUSH SCREENS.

There is little to be said of the summer-houses built at the seaside near our large cities, since that is rather a matter of carpentry; nor of portable houses; nor of lattice-work with painted paper; nor even of a "schbang" such as I have often built of old doors, shutters, outer windows, and tarred paper: any one who is ingenious can knock together all the shelter his needs require or means allow. But, where you are camping for a week or more, it pays you well to use all you have in making yourself comfortable. A bush house, a canopy under which to eat, and something better than plain "out-of-doors" to cook in, are among the first things to attend to.

If you wish to plant firmly a tree that you have cut down, you may perhaps be able to drive a stake larger than the trunk of the tree; then loosen the stake by hitting it on the sides, and pull it out. You can do this when you have no shovel, or when the soil is too hard to dig. Small stakes wedged down the hole after putting in the tree will make it firm.

ETIQUETTE.

Some things considered essential at the home table have fallen into disuse in camp. It is pardonable, and perhaps best, to bring on whatever you have cooked in the dish that it is cooked in, so as to prevent its cooling off.

You will also be allowed to help yourself first to whatever is nearest you, before passing it to another; for passing things around in camp is risky, and should be avoided as much as possible for that reason.

Eat with your hats on, as it is more comfortable, and the wind is not so apt to blow your stray hairs into the next man's dish.

If you have no fork, do not mind eating with your knife and fingers. But, however much liberty you take, do not be rude, coarse, or uncivil: these bad habits grow rapidly in camp if you encourage them, and are broken off with difficulty on return.

If there is no separate knife for the butter, cheese, and meat, nor spoon for the gravy and soup, you can use your own by first wiping the knife or spoon upon a piece of bread.

Be social and agreeable to all fellow-travellers you meet. It is a received rule now, I believe, that you are under no obligations to consider travelling-acquaintances as permanent: so you are in duty bound to be friendly to all thrown in your way. However, it is not fair to thrust your company upon others, nor compel a courtesy from any one. Try to remember too, that it is nothing wonderful to camp out or walk; and do not expect any one to think it is. We frequently meet parties of young folks walking through the mountains, who do great things with their tongues, but not much with their feet. If you will refrain from bragging, you can speak of your short marches without exciting contempt.

Avoid as much as possible asking another member of the party to do your work, or to wait upon you: it is surprising how easily you can make yourself disliked by asking a few trifling favors of one who is tired and hungry.

MOSQUITOES, BLACK FLIES, AND MIDGE.

These pests will annoy you exceedingly almost everywhere in the summer. In the daytime motion and perspiration keep them off to some extent. At night, or when lying down, you can do no better than to cover yourself so that they cannot reach your body, and have a mosquito-bar of some sort over your head. The simplest thing is a square yard of mosquito-netting thrown over the head, and tucked in well. You will need to have your hat first thrown over the head, and your shirt-collar turned up, to prevent the mosquitoes reaching through the mesh to your face and neck.

A better way than this is to make a box-shaped mosquito-bar, large enough to stretch across the head of the bed, and cover the heads and shoulders of all that sleep in the tent. It should be six or eight feet long, twenty to twenty-six inches wide, and one yard or more high. It will be more durable, but not quite so well ventilated, if the top is made of light cloth instead of netting. The seams should be bound with stout tape, and the sides and ends "gathered" considerably in sewing them to the top. Even then the side that falls over the shoulders of the sleepers may not be loose enough to fill the hollows between them; the netting will then have to be tucked under the blanket, or have something thrown over its lower edge.

Sew loops or strings on the four upper corners, and corresponding loops or strings on the tent, so that you can tie up the bar.

Bobbinet lace is better than the common netting for all of these purposes. It comes in pieces twelve to fourteen yards long, and two yards wide. You cannot often find it for sale; but the large shops in the principal cities that do a great business by correspondence can send it to you.

Oil of cedar and oil of pennyroyal are recommended as serviceable in driving off mosquitoes, and there are patented compounds whose labels pretend great things: you will try them only once, I think.

Ammoniated opodeldoc rubbed upon the bites will in a great measure stop the itching, and hasten the cure.

They say that a little gunpowder flashed in the tent will drive out flies and mosquitoes. I saw a man try it once, but noticed that he himself went out in a great hurry, while the flies, if they went at all, were back again before he was.

A better thing, really the best, is a smudge made by building a small fire to the windward of your tent, and nearly smothering it with chips, moss, bark, or rotten wood. If you make the smudge in an old pan or pot, you can move it about as often as the wind changes.

HOW TO SKIN FISH.

When you camp by the seaside, you will catch cunners and other fish that need skinning. Let no one persuade you to slash the back fins out with a single stroke, as you would whittle a stick; but take a sharp knife, cut on both sides of the fin, and then pull out the whole of it from head to tail, and thus save the trouble that a hundred little bones will make if left in. After cutting the skin on the under side from head to tail, and taking out the entrails and small fins, start the skin where the head joins the body, and pull it off one side at a time. Some men stick an awl through a cunner's head, or catch it fast in a stout iron hook, to hold it while skinning.

Cunners and lobsters are sometimes caught off bold rocks in a net. You can make one easily out of a hogshead-hoop, and twine stretched across so as to make a three-inch mesh.[25] Tie a lot of bait securely in the middle, sink it for a few minutes, and draw up rapidly. The rush of water through the net prevents the fish from escaping.

EXPENSES.

The expenses of camping or walking vary greatly, of course, according to the route, manner of going, and other things. The principal items are railroad-tickets, horse and wagon hire, trucking, land-rent (if you camp where rent is charged), and the cost of the outfit. You ought to be able to reckon very nearly what you will have to pay on account of these before you spend a cent. After this will come the calculation whether to travel at all by rail, supposing you wish to go a hundred miles to reach the seaside where you propose to camp, or the mountains you want to climb. If you have a horse and wagon, or are going horseback, it will doubtless be cheaper to march than to ride and pay freight. If time is plenty and money is scarce, you may perhaps be able to walk the distance cheaper than to go by rail; but, if you lodge at hotels, you will find it considerably more expensive. The question then is apt to turn on whether the hundred miles is worth seeing, and whether it is so thickly settled as to prevent your camping.

To walk a hundred miles, carrying your kit all the way, will take from one to two weeks, according to your age, strength, and the weather. We have already stated that there is little pleasure in walking more than sixty miles a week. But if you wish to go as fast as you can, and have taken pains to practise walking before starting, and can buy your food in small quantities daily, and can otherwise reduce your baggage, you can make the hundred miles in a week without difficulty, and more if it is necessary, unless there is much bad weather.

The expense for food will also vary according to one's will; but it need not be heavy if you can content yourself with simple fare. You can hardly live at a cheaper rate than the following:—

ONE WEEK'S SUPPLY FOR TWO MEN.

Ten pounds of pilot-bread; eight pounds of salt pork; one pound of coffee (roasted and ground); one to two pounds of sugar (granulated); thirty pounds of potatoes (half a bushel).[26] A little beef and butter, and a few ginger-snaps, will be good investments.

Supposing you and I were to start from home in the morning after breakfast; when noon comes, we eat the lunch we have taken with us, and press on. As the end of the day's march approaches, we look out to buy two quarts of potatoes at a farmhouse or store; and we boil or fry, or boil and mash in milk, enough of these for our supper. The breakfast next morning is much the same. We cook potatoes in every way we know, and eat the whole of our stock remaining, thus saving so much weight to carry. We also soak some pilot-bread, and fry that for a dessert, eating a little sugar on it if we can spare it. When dinner-time approaches, we keep a lookout for a chance to buy ten or twelve cents' worth of bread or biscuits. These are more palatable than the pilot-bread or crackers in our haversack. If we have a potato left from breakfast, we cook and eat it now. We cut off a slice of the corned beef, and take a nibble at the ginger-snaps. If we think we can afford three or four cents more, we buy a pint of milk, and make a little dip-toast. And so we go; sometimes we catch a fish, or pass an orchard whose owner gives us all the windfalls we want. We pick berries too; and keep a sharp lookout that we supply ourselves in season when our pilot-bread, sugar, pork, and butter run low. Some days we overtake farmers driving ox-carts or wagons; we throw our kits aboard, and walk slowly along, willing to lose a little time to save our aching shoulders. And in due time, if no accident befalls, nor rainy weather detains us, we arrive at our seashore or mountain.

You may like to know that this is almost an exact history, at least as far as eating is concerned, of a twelve days' tramp I once went on in company with two other boys. There was about five dollars in the party, and nearly two dollars of this was spent in paying toll on a boat that we took through a canal a part of the way. We carried coffee, sugar, pork, and beef from home, and ate potatoes three times a day. We had a delightful time, and came home fattened up somewhat; but I will admit that I did not call for potatoes when I got back to my father's table, for some days.

In general, however, it will be noticed that those who camp out for the season, or go on walking-tours, do so at a moderate expense because they start with the determination to make it cheap. For this purpose they content themselves with old clothes, which they fit over or repair, take cooking-utensils from their own kitchen, and, excepting in the matter of canned foods, do not live very differently from what they do at home.

Nearly all the parties of boys that I have questioned spend all the money they have, be it little or much. Generally those I have met walking or camping seem to be impressed with the magnitude of their operations, and to be carrying constantly with them the determination to spend their funds sparingly enough to reach home without begging. It is not bad practice for a young man.

Here I wish to say a word to parents—having been a boy myself, and being now a father. Let your boys go when summer comes; put them to their wits; do not let them be extravagant, nor have money to pay other men for working for them. It is far better for them to move about than to remain in one place all the time. The last, especially if the camp is near some place of public resort, tends to encourage idleness and dissipation.

When you return home again from a tour of camping, and go back to a sedentary life, remember that you do not need to eat all that your appetite calls for. You may make yourself sick if you go on eating such meals as you have been digesting in camp. You are apt also upon your return to feel as you did on the first and second days of your tour; this is especially liable to be the case if you have overworked yourself, or have not had enough sleep.

FOOTNOTES:

[23] A flannel dress, the skirt coming to the top of the boots, and having a blouse waist, will be found most comfortable.

[24] It is no novelty for women and children to camp out: we see them every summer at the seaside and on the blueberry-plains. A great many families besides live in rude cabins, which are preferable on many accounts, but are expensive. Sickness sometimes results, but usually all are much benefited. I know a family that numbered with its guests nine ladies, five children ("one at the breast"), and the paterfamilias, which camped several weeks through some of the best and some of the worst of weather. The whooping-cough broke out the second or third day; shortly after, the tent of the mother and children blew down in the night, and turned them all out into the pelting rain in their night-clothes. Excepting the misery of that night and day, nothing serious came of it; and in the fall all returned home better every way for having spent their summer in camp.

[25] The mesh of a net is measured by pulling it diagonally as far as possible, and finding the distance from knot to knot; consequently a three-inch mesh will open so as to make a square of about an inch and a half.

[26] The field allowance in the United States army is nearly 1-1/8 pounds of coffee and 2-1/8 pounds of sugar (damp brown) for two men seven days; the bread and pork ration is also larger than that above given; but the allowance of potatoes is almost nothing.



CHAPTER XI.

DIARY.

By all means keep a diary: the act of writing will help you to remember these good times, and the diary will prove the pleasantest of reading in after-years. It is not an easy thing to write in camp or on the march, but if it costs you an effort you will prize it all the more. I beg you to persevere, and, if you fail, to "try, try again." I cannot overcome the desire to tell you the results of my experience in diary-writing; for I have tried it long, and under many different circumstances. They are as follows:—

First, Any thing written at the time is far better than no record at all; so, if you can only write a pocket diary with lead pencil, do that.

Second, All such small diaries, scraps, letters, and every thing written illegibly or with lead pencil, are difficult to preserve or to read, and are very unhandy for reference.

Third, It is great folly to persuade yourself that after taking notes for a week or two, or writing a hurried sketch, you can extend or copy and illuminate at your leisure.

Consequently, write what you can, and let it stand with all its blots, errors, and nonsense. And be careful, when you are five years older, not to go through the diary with eraser and scissors; for, if you live still another five years, nothing will interest you more than this diary with all its defects.

I find after having written many diaries of many forms, that I have now to regret I did not at first choose some particular size, say "letter-size," and so have had all my diaries uniform. I will never again use "onion-skin," which is too thin, nor any odd-shaped, figured, cheap, or colored paper. I do not like those large printed diaries which give you just a page or half-page a day, nor a paper whose ruling shows conspicuously.

I like best when at home to write in a blank book; and when I go off on a summer vacation I leave that diary safely at home, and take a portfolio with some sheets of blank paper upon which to write the diary, and mail them as fast as written. These answer for letters to the friends at home, and save writing any more to them. They also, when bound, form a diary exclusively of travels. When I return I write an epitome in the home-diary, and thus prevent a break of dates in that book. The paper for the diary of travels is strong, but rather thin and white. I buy enough of it at once to make a volume, and thus have the diary sheets uniform.

I am quite sure that you will do well to write a diary of your summer vacation, upon the plan just named, whether you keep one at home or not. Try to do it well, but do not undertake too much. Write facts such as what you saw, heard, did, and failed to do; but do not try to write poetry or fine writing of any kind. Mention what kind of weather; but do not attempt a meteorological record unless you have a special liking for that science. If you camp in Jacob Sawyer's pasture, and he gives you a quart of milk, say so, instead of "a good old man showed us a favor;" for in after-years the memory of it will be sweeter than the milk was, and it will puzzle you to recall the "good old man's" name and what the favor was. If you have time, try to draw: never mind if it is a poor picture. I have some of the strangest-looking portraits and most surprising perspectives in my diaries written when fifteen to twenty years old; but I would not exchange them now for one of the "old masters." Do not neglect the narrative, however, for sake of drawing.

I have noticed that when my paper is down in the bottom of a valise, and the pen in a wallet, and the penholder in a coat-pocket, and portfolio somewhere else, it is not so easy to "find time to write" as when I have penholder, pen, and paper in the portfolio, and the portfolio and ink in my haversack. Under these favorable conditions it is easy to snatch a few moments from any halt; and a diary written on the spur of the moment is a diary that will be worth reading in after-life. If it is impossible, however, as it so often is, to write oftener than once a day, you will do well to make a note of events as fast as they happen, so that you shall not forget them, nor have to stop to recall them when your time is precious.

I have heard of diaries with side-notes on each page, and even an index at the end of the book; but not many men, and but few boys, can do all this; and my advice to the average boy is, not to undertake it, nor any thing else that will use the time, patience, and perseverance, needed to write the narrative.

You will find it convenient for reference if you make a paragraph of every subject. Date every day distinctly, with a much bolder handwriting than the body of the diary; and write the date on the right margin of the right page, and left margin of the left page, with the year at the top of the page only. Skip a line or two instead of ruling between the days. Thus:—

1876.

JANUARY 1, SATURDAY.

Pleasant and mild.

Vacation ends to-day.

Jo. Harding is full of going on a walk to the White Mountains next summer, and he wants me to go too.

Made New-Year calls on Susie Smith, Mary Lyman, Ellen Jenkins, Christie Jameson, and Martha Buzzell.

JANUARY 2, SUNDAY.

Warm again and misty.

Went to church. Mr. Simpson's pup followed him in; and it took Simpson, Jenks the sexton, and two small boys, to put him out.

Accompanied Susie Smith to the Baptist's this evening, and went home by way of Centre Street to avoid the crowd. Crowds are not so bad sometimes.

JANUARY 3, MONDAY.

Still mild and pleasant, but cooler.

Went to school, and failed in algebra. This X business is too much for me.

Abel's shoe-factory, next to our schoolhouse, caught fire this afternoon while we were at recess, and Mr. Nason dismissed the school. We all hurrahed for Nason, and went to the fire. Steamer No. 1 put it out in less than ten minutes after she got there.

Home all the evening, studying.

If you are like me, you will be glad by and by if you note in your diary of the summer vacation a few dry statistics, such as distances walked, names of people you meet, steamers you take passage on, and, in general, every thing that interested you at the time, even to the songs you sing; for usually some few songs run in your head all through the tour, and it is pleasant to recall them in after-years.

Do not write so near the margins of the paper that the binder will cut off the writing when he comes to trim them.



CHAPTER XII.

"HOW TO DO IT."

The following advice by Rev. Edward Everett Hale is so good that I have appropriated it. You will find more good advice in the same book.[27]

"First, never walk before breakfast. If you like you may make two breakfasts, and take a mile or two between; but be sure to eat something before you are on the road.

"Second, do not walk much in the middle of the day. It is dusty and hot then; and the landscape has lost its special glory. By ten o'clock you ought to have found some camping-ground for the day,—a nice brook running through a grove; a place to draw, or paint, or tell stories, or read them or write them; a place to make waterfalls and dams, to sail chips, or build boats; a place to make a fire and a cup of tea for the oldsters. Stay here till four in the afternoon, and then push on in the two or three hours which are left to the sleeping-place agreed upon. Four or five hours on the road is all you want in each day. Even resolute idlers, as it is to be hoped you all are on such occasions, can get eight miles a day out of that; and that is enough for a true walking-party. Remember all along that you are not running a race with the railway-train. If you were, you would be beaten certainly; and the less you think you are, the better. You are travelling in a method of which the merit is that it is not fast, and that you see every separate detail of the glory of the world. What a fool you are, then, if you tire yourself to death, merely that you may say that you did in ten hours what the locomotive would gladly have finished in one, if by that effort you have lost exactly the enjoyment of nature and society that you started for!"

The advice to rest in the heat of the day is good for very hot weather; young people, however, are too impatient to follow it unless there is an apparent necessity. The feeling at twelve o'clock that you have yet to walk as far as you have come is not so pleasant as that of knowing you have all the afternoon for rest. For this reason nearly every one will finish the walk as soon as possible; still Mr. Hale's plan is a good one—the best for very hot weather.

STILL ANOTHER WAY TO TRAVEL.

Mr. Hale also tells an amusing story of his desire when young to sail down the Connecticut River; but he was dissuaded from doing so when the chance finally came, by people who thought the road was the only place to travel in. And now he is sorry he did not sail.

The reading of his story brings to mind a similar experience that I had when young, and it is now one of the keen regrets of my manhood, that I likewise was laughed out of a boyish plan that would have given me untold pleasure and profit had it been carried out. I loved to walk, and I wanted to see the towns within a circuit of twenty or thirty miles of home; but I could not afford to pay hotel-bills, and I was not strong enough to carry a camping-outfit. But I had an old cart, strong and large enough to hold all I should need. I could load it with the same food that I should eat if I staid at home; could wear my old clothes, take my oilcloth overcoat, an axe, frying-pan, pail, and a borrowed tent and poles; and I would learn the county by heart before vacation was over, and not cost my father a cent more than if I staid at home. Oh, why didn't I go! Simply because I was laughed out of it. I was told that people did not travel in that way; I should be arrested; the boys would hoot at and stone me; the men would set their dogs on me; I should be driven out of my camping-place; thieves would steal my seventy-five cent cart; dogs would eat up my stock of food; and the first man who overtook me would tell the people that a crazy boy from Portland was coming along the road dragging a baby-wagon, whereupon every woman would leave her kitchen, and every man his field, to see and laugh at me. But, above all, the thing would be known in our neighborhood, and the boys and girls would join in their abuse of the county explorer.

That was the end of it; the being made sport of by my own friends, and hearing the small boys in our street sing out "How's your cart?" and to be known all through life perhaps as "one-horse John"—the punishment would be too severe.

But, my young friends, I made a great mistake; and I want to caution you not to surrender to any such nonsense as I did. If you wish to go to sea in a skiff, it is well to give in to a fisherman's advice to stay at home, for he can assure you that winds and waves will be the death of you; but if you have a good hand-wagon, and are willing to stand a few taunts, by all means go on your walk, and pull your wagon after you. You will learn a lesson in independence that will be of value to you, if you learn nothing else.

FOOTNOTES:

[27] How to Do It. Published by Roberts Brothers, Boston.



CHAPTER XIII.

HYGIENIC NOTES.

[This chapter is taken in full from a work on ornithology, written by Dr. Coues of the Smithsonian Institution. It is the advice of an accomplished naturalist and sportsman to his fellow-naturalists, but is equally adapted to the young camper. Hardly any one can write more understandingly on the subjects here presented than the doctor, who has had long experience with the army, both in the field and garrison, and is an enthusiastic student of natural history besides. The remarks upon alcoholic stimulants are especially recommended to the reader, coming as they do from an army officer, and not a temperance reformer.

Those who wish to become familiar with the details of bird-collecting will find a treasure in the doctor's book, "Field Ornithology, comprising a Manual of Instruction for procuring, preparing, and preserving Birds; and a check list of North American Birds. By Dr. Elliott Coues, U.S.A. Salem: Naturalists' Agency."]

ACCIDENTS.

The secret of safe climbing is never to relax one hold until another is secured; it is in spirit equally applicable to scrambling over rocks, a particularly difficult thing to do safely with a loaded gun. Test rotten, slippery, or otherwise suspicious holds, before trusting them. In lifting the body up anywhere, keep the mouth shut, breathe through the nostrils, and go slowly.

In swimming waste no strength unnecessarily in trying to stem a current; yield partly, and land obliquely lower down; if exhausted, float: the slightest motion of the hands will ordinarily keep the face above water; in any event keep your wits collected. In fording deeply, a heavy stone [in the hands, above water] will strengthen your position.

Never sail a boat experimentally: if you are no sailor, take one with you, or stay on land.

In crossing a high narrow foot-path, never look lower than your feet; the muscles will work true if not confused with faltering instructions from a giddy brain. On soft ground see what, if any thing, has preceded you; large hoof-marks generally mean that the way is safe: if none are found, inquire for yourself before going on. Quicksand is the most treacherous because far more dangerous than it looks; but I have seen a mule's ears finally disappear in genuine mud.

Cattle-paths, however erratic, commonly prove the surest way out of a difficult place, whether of uncertain footing or dense undergrowth.

"TAKING COLD."

This vague "household word" indicates one or more of a long varied train of unpleasant affections nearly always traceable to one or the other of only two causes,—sudden change of temperature, and unequal distribution of temperature. No extremes of heat or cold can alone affect this result: persons frozen to death do not "take cold" during the process. But if a part of the body be rapidly cooled, as by evaporation from a wet article of clothing, or by sitting in a draught of air, the rest of the body remaining at an ordinary temperature; or if the temperature of the whole be suddenly changed by going out into the cold, or especially by coming into a warm room,—there is much liability of trouble.

There is an old saying,—

"When the air comes through a hole, Say your prayers to save your soul."

And I should think almost any one could get a "cold" with a spoonful of water on the wrist held to a key-hole. Singular as it may seem, sudden warming when cold is more dangerous than the reverse: every one has noticed how soon the handkerchief is required on entering a heated room on a cold day. Frost-bite is an extreme illustration of this. As the Irishman said on picking himself up, it was not the fall, but stopping so quickly, that hurt him: it is not the lowering of the temperature to freezing point, but its subsequent elevation, that devitalizes the tissue. This is why rubbing with snow, or bathing in cold water, is required to restore safely a frozen part: the arrested circulation must be very gradually re-established, or inflammation, perhaps mortification, ensues.

General precautions against taking cold are almost self-evident in this light. There is ordinarily little if any danger to be apprehended from wet clothes, so long as exercise is kept up; for the "glow" about compensates for the extra cooling by evaporation. Nor is a complete drenching more likely to be injurious than wetting of one part. But never sit still wet, and in changing rub the body dry. There is a general tendency, springing from fatigue, indolence, or indifference, to neglect damp feet,—that is to say, to dry them by the fire; but this process is tedious and uncertain. I would say especially, "Off with muddy boots and sodden socks at once:" dry stockings and slippers after a hunt may make just the difference of your being able to go out again, or never. Take care never to check perspiration: during this process the body is in a somewhat critical condition, and the sudden arrest of the function may result disastrously, even fatally. One part of the business of perspiration is to equalize bodily temperature, and it must not be interfered with. The secret of much that is said about bathing when heated lies here. A person overheated, panting it may be, with throbbing temples and a dry skin, is in danger partly because the natural cooling by evaporation from the skin is denied; and this condition is sometimes not far from a "sunstroke." Under these circumstances, a person of fairly good constitution may plunge into the water with impunity, even with benefit. But, if the body be already cooling by sweating, rapid abstraction of heat from the surface may cause internal congestion, never unattended with danger.

Drinking ice-water offers a somewhat parallel case; even on stopping to drink at the brook, when flushed with heat, it is well to bathe the face and hands first, and to taste the water before a full draught. It is a well-known excellent rule, not to bathe immediately after a full meal; because during digestion the organs concerned are comparatively engorged and any sudden disturbance of the circulation may be disastrous.

The imperative necessity of resisting drowsiness under extreme cold requires no comment.

In walking under a hot sun, the head may be sensibly protected by green leaves or grass in the hat; they may be advantageously moistened, but not enough to drip about the ears. Under such circumstances the slightest giddiness, dimness of sight, or confusion of ideas, should be taken as a warning of possible sunstroke, instantly demanding rest, and shelter if practicable.

HUNGER AND FATIGUE

are more closely related than they might seem to be: one is a sign that the fuel is out, and the other asks for it. Extreme fatigue, indeed, destroys appetite: this simply means temporary incapacity for digestion. But, even far short of this, food is more easily digested and better relished after a little preparation of the furnace. On coming home tired it is much better to make a leisurely and reasonably nice toilet, than to eat at once, or to lie still thinking how tired you are; after a change and a wash you feel like a "new man," and go to the table in capital state. Whatever dietetic irregularities a high state of civilization may demand or render practicable, a normally healthy person is inconvenienced almost as soon as his regular mealtime passes without food; and few can work comfortably or profitably fasting over six or eight hours. Eat before starting; if for a day's tramp, take a lunch; the most frugal meal will appease if it do not satisfy hunger, and so postpone its urgency. As a small scrap of practical wisdom, I would add, Keep the remnants of the lunch if there be any; for you cannot always be sure of getting in to supper.

STIMULATION.

When cold, fatigued, depressed in mind, and on other occasions, you may feel inclined to resort to artificial stimulus. Respecting this many-sided theme I have a few words to offer—of direct bearing on the collector's case. It should be clearly understood, in the first place, that a stimulant confers no strength whatever: it simply calls the powers that be into increased action, at their own expense. Seeking real strength in stimulus is as wise as an attempt to lift yourself up by your boot-straps. You may gather yourself to leap the ditch, and you clear it; but no such muscular energy can be sustained: exhaustion speedily renders further expenditure impossible. But now suppose a very powerful mental impression be made, say the circumstance of a succession of ditches in front, and a mad dog behind: if the stimulus of terror be sufficiently strong, you may leap on till you drop senseless. Alcoholic stimulus is a parallel case, and is not seldom pushed to the same extreme. Under its influence you never can tell when you are tired; the expenditure goes on, indeed, with unnatural rapidity, only it is not felt at the time; but the upshot is, you have all the original fatigue to endure and to recover from, plus the fatigue resulting from over-excitation of the system. Taken as a fortification against cold, alcohol is as unsatisfactory as a remedy for fatigue. Insensibility to cold does not imply protection. The fact is, the exposure is greater than before; the circulation and respiration being hurried, the waste is greater; and, as sound fuel cannot be immediately supplied, the temperature of the body is soon lowered. The transient warmth and glow over the system has both cold and depression to endure. There is no use in borrowing from yourself, and fancying you are richer.

Secondly, the value of any stimulus (except in a few exigencies of disease or injury) is in proportion, not to the intensity, but to the equableness and durability, of its effect. This is one reason why tea, coffee, and articles of corresponding qualities, are preferable to alcoholic drinks: they work so smoothly that their effect is often unnoticed, and they "stay by" well. The friction of alcohol is tremendous in comparison. A glass of grog may help a veteran over the fence; but no one, young or old, can shoot all day on whiskey.

I have had so much experience in the use of tobacco as a mild stimulant, that I am probably no impartial judge of its merits. I will simply say, I do not use it in the field, because it indisposes to muscular activity, and favors reflection when observation is required; and because temporary abstinence provokes the morbid appetite, and renders the weed more grateful afterwards.

Thirdly, undue excitation of any physical function is followed by a corresponding depression, on the simple principle that action and reaction are equal; and the balance of health turns too easily to be wilfully disturbed. Stimulation is a draft upon vital capital, when interest alone should suffice: it may be needed at times to bridge a chasm; but habitual living beyond vital income infallibly entails bankruptcy in health. The use of alcohol in health seems practically restricted to purposes of sensuous gratification on the part of those prepared to pay a round price for this luxury. The three golden rules here are,—Never drink before breakfast; never drink alone; and never drink bad liquor. Their observance may make even the abuse of alcohol tolerable. Serious objections, for a naturalist at least, are that science, viewed through a glass, seems distant and uncertain, while the joys of rum are immediate and unquestionable; and that intemperance, being an attempt to defy certain physical laws, is therefore eminently unscientific.

* * * * *

Besides the above good advice by Dr. Coues, the following may prove useful to the camper:—

Diarrhoea may result from overwork and gluttony combined, and from eating indigestible or uncooked food, and from imperfect protection of the stomach. "Remove the cause, and the effect will cease." A flannel bandage six to twelve inches wide, worn around the stomach, is good as a preventive and cure.

The same causes may produce cholera morbus; symptoms, violent vomiting and purging, faintness, and spasms in the arms and limbs. Unless accompanied with cramp (which is not usual), nature will work its own cure. Give warm drinks if you have them. Do not get frightened, but keep the patient warm, and well protected from a draught of air.

The liability to costiveness, and the remedies therefor, are noted on p. 55 of this book.

A very rare occurrence, but a constant dread with some people, is an insect crawling into the ear. If you have oil, spirits of turpentine, or alcoholic liquor at hand, fill the ear at once. If you have not these, use coffee, tea, warm water (not too hot), or almost any liquid which is not hurtful to the skin.

MARSHALL HALL'S READY METHOD IN SUFFOCATION, DROWNING, ETC.

1st, Treat the patient instantly on the spot, in the open air, freely exposing the face, neck, and chest to the breeze, except in severe weather.

2d, In order to clear the throat, place the patient gently on the face, with one wrist under the forehead, that all fluid, and the tongue itself, may fall forward, and leave the entrance into the windpipe free.

3d, To excite respiration, turn the patient slightly on his side, and apply some irritating or stimulating agent to the nostrils, as veratrine, dilute ammonia, &c.

4th, Make the face warm by brisk friction; then dash cold water upon it.

5th, If not successful, lose no time; but, to imitate respiration, place the patient on his face, and turn the body gently but completely on the side and a little beyond, then again on the face, and so on alternately. Repeat these movements deliberately and perseveringly, fifteen times only in a minute. (When the patient lies on the thorax, this cavity is compressed by the weight of the body, and expiration takes place. When he is turned on the side, this pressure is removed, and inspiration occurs.)

6th, When the prone position is resumed, make a uniform and efficient pressure along the spine, removing the pressure immediately, before rotation on the side. (The pressure augments the expiration, the rotation commences inspiration.) Continue these measures.

7th, Rub the limbs upward, with firm pressure and with energy. (The object being to aid the return of venous blood to the heart.)

8th, Substitute for the patient's wet clothing, if possible, such other covering as can be instantly procured, each bystander supplying a coat or cloak, &c. Meantime, and from time to time, to excite inspiration, let the surface of the body be slapped briskly with the hand.

9th, Rub the body briskly till it is dry and warm, then dash cold water upon it, and repeat the rubbing.

Avoid the immediate removal of the patient, as it involves a dangerous loss of time; also the use of bellows or any forcing instrument; also the warm bath and all rough treatment.

POISONS.

In all cases of poisoning, the first step is to evacuate the stomach. This should be effected by an emetic which is quickly obtained, and most powerful and speedy in its operation. Such are, powdered mustard (a large tablespoonful in a tumblerful of warm water), powdered alum (in half-ounce doses), sulphate of zinc (ten to thirty grains), tartar emetic (one to two grains) combined with powdered ipecacuanha (twenty grains), and sulphate of copper (two to five grains). When vomiting has already taken place, copious draughts of warm water or warm mucilaginous drinks should be given, to keep up the effect till the poisoning substance has been thoroughly evacuated.

PARTING ADVICE.

Be independent, but not impudent. See all you can, and make the most of your time; "time is money;" and, when you grow older, you may find it even more difficult to command time than money.



INDEX.

Accidents, boy run over, 34. how to avoid, 117.

Advice to parents, 105.

Afoot, ways to travel, 9-24.

Alcoholic stimulants, 55, 123.

Ammoniated opodeldoc for bites, 99.

Appetite, none first days, 55. on return home, 105.

A-tents, 75-79, 95. too small for ladies, 95.

Babies in camp, 94.

Baggage:— Barrel, 32. Blanket, 16-19. Candles and lamps, 61. Clothing, 35-38. Cooking utensils, 42-46. Cover for wagon, 25. Food, 20, 47-49. Haversack, 18. Knapsack, 16. Ladies' outfits, 94. Mattress, 63. Overcoat, 19, 58. Overloading, 15, 90. Packing a wagon, 26, 32. Poles, 60, 73. Pork, how carried, 48. Shirts, 19. Stove, 39-41. Tents, 72-80. Tub, 91. Wagon, 31-33.

Baked beans, beef, and fish, 46.

Baker, Yankee, 43.

Barrel, on march for baggage, 32. sunk for cellar, 48. cut in two for tubs, 91.

Bathing, 52, 53, 64, 120.

Beans and pork, how baked, 46.

Beckets for tents, 79, 81.

Beds, 62-64.

Black flies, protection from, 98.

Blanket, woollen, 19, 22, 25, 94. instead of knapsack, 16. lining, 19. rubber, 16, 22, 75.

Board floor for tent, 60.

Boat, don't sail experimentally, 118.

Boating, general advice, 90.

Bobbinet lace mosquito-bar, 99.

Boots and brogans, 36, 37.

Brush or bush houses, 69, 96.

Bug in ear, 126.

Bumpers for wagon-springs, 31.

Butter, how to keep, 47.

Camp, 60-71. Beds, 62-64. Brush-houses, 69, 96. Candles and sluts, 62. Care of food, 47-49. Cellar, 48. Children, 94. Clothes-line, 61, 64. Cold weather, 66. Cooking, 44, 47. Etiquette, 96. Expenses, 83, 101. Fire, 46, 66-69. Flies and mosquitoes, 98. Hammock, 64. Hitching-post, 64, 96. Independence, 12, 97. Ladies, 41, 93-95. Lamp and lantern, 61. Mattress, 63. Mosquito-bar, 98. Outfit, 10-13, 20-22. Shelters, 69-71, 96. Sleeping, 55, 62. Stoves, 39-43. Tents, 72-89.

Camp-stoves, 39-43.

Candles and candlesticks, 61.

Captain for large party, 25-34.

Care of food, 47-49.

Cart, pulling a, 115.

Catching fish in nets, 101.

Cattle-paths the safest, 118.

Cellar, sunk barrel, 48.

Chafing the skin, 16, 52-54.

Cheap living, 102.

Children in camp, 94.

Chimneys, 67, 68.

Cholera morbus, 126.

Cloth for tent, 82. how to preserve, 83.

Clothes-line in tent, 61. on camp-ground, 64.

Clothing, 35-38. made early, 10. for mountain climbing, 58. at night, 19, 64.

Climbing mountains, 14, 57. with safety, 117.

Coffee better than alcohol, 55, 124. pot, 41, 45.

Cold weather, what to do in, 66. "taking cold," 118.

Collars to shirts, 35.

Compass points not known, 91.

Cooking, 44-47. utensils, 20, 42-46. stoves, 39-41.

Costiveness, 55.

Cover for wagon, 25.

Cunners, how skinned, 100. how caught in net, 101.

Daily tour of duty, 26-29.

Diary, how to keep, 107-112.

Diarrhoea, 126.

Dishes, 11. to be brought on table, 97.

Dish-cloths, 49.

Drawers, 36.

Drawing sketches advised, 109.

Drinking water, 51, 121. coffee and tea, 55, 124. oatmeal, 52. liquors, 55, 123.

Driving a wagon, 32, 34. a stake into ground, 96.

Drowning, to revive from, 126-128.

Dutch oven, 42.

Eat sparingly on return home, 105. before walking, 113.

Etiquette of camp, 96.

Exercise not good after meals, 50.

Expenses, 10, 15, 23, 26, 83. of trips to White Mts., 34. of a supposed trip, 101-105.

Farmers, how to treat, 56.

Fatigue, 54, 56, 122.

Fiddles of a tent, 82.

"Fighting cut" to hair, 11.

Fire, danger from, 68-70. kind of to cook upon, 46. for cold weather, 66, 69.

First day's march, 51, 52, 55.

Fish, how preserved, 48. how to skin, 100. how to catch in nets, 101.

Fishermen's treatment of cloth, 84.

Flies and mosquitoes, 98. short hair no protection, 12. mosquito-bars, 99.

Fly for tent, 82.

Floor for tent, 60.

Food, 20. care of, 47-49. expense of, 102.

Foot-soreness, 52-54. (see shoes), 36.

Frying, 44-46.

Frying-pan, tin plate, or canteen, 44. bring it on the table, 97.

Getting ready, 9-13.

Glycerine for sunburn, &c., 53.

Guy-lines of tent, 81.

Hair, how cut, 11.

Hammock, 64.

Hand-barrow, 60.

Harness, 30, 32.

Hatchet, 20.

Haversack, how made, 18.

Hip-pantaloons, 37.

Hitching-post, 64, 96.

Horse and wagon for baggage, 25-34.

Horseback tour, 90.

Hotels to be avoided, 56, 105.

"How to do it," 113-116.

Hunger, none first day, 55. and fatigue, 122.

Hunter's camp, 69.

Hygienic notes, 117-129.

Independence in camp, 12, 97. in modes of travel, 115.

Insect in ear, 126.

Knapsack, 11, 16. the roll a substitute, 16-17.

Ladies need a stove, 41. climbing mountains, 58. as pedestrians, 93. outfits for, 94, 95. and children in camp, 94.

Lamp and lantern, 61.

Leggings for foot-travellers, 54.

Lime-water on tent-cloth, 84.

Liquors not needed, 55, 123.

Lobsters caught in net, 101.

Lost, whereabouts, and direction, 91.

Lumbermen's way to carry pork, 48.

Lumbermen's way to cook beans, 46.

Map, study before travel, 92.

Management of party, 25-29, 33, 34.

Marching, 50-59. in army, 50. first day's troubles, 51. second day's fatigue, 54. how fast, 23, 50, 102, 114. hundred miles a week, 102. "How to do it," 113, 114.

Mark name on baggage, 10.

Mattress, 63.

Medicines, 55.

Mildew, how to prevent, 83.

Mosaic law, 65.

Mosquitoes and flies, 11, 98.

Mountain climbing, 14, 57. for ladies, 58.

Mutton tallow for chafing, &c., 53.

Nails in shoes, 37.

Net, mosquito, 98. to catch fish, 101.

Note-book, 10, 110.

Oatmeal in water, 52.

Offal to be buried, 65.

Oil of cedar and pennyroyal, 99. for sunburn, chafing, &c., 53. for harness and boots, 32.

Opodeldoc for mosquito-bites, 99.

Outfit, 10-13, 19-22, 102.

Overcoat not needed, 19. needed on mountains, 58.

Overloading, 15, 90, 102.

Packing a wagon, 26, 32. away tents, 89.

Pantaloons, 37. in stockings, 54.

Parents, advice to, 105.

Perspiration, nature of, 120.

Pillow carried by officer, 21.

Poisons, treatment for, 128.

Poles for tent, 60, 73, 79, 82. how made, 86.

Politeness, 56, 97.

Pork and beans baked, 47. how carried, 48.

Postal cards as stencil-plates, 10.

Potatoes for food, 103. candlesticks, 61.

Preparations, 9.

Privies, 65.

Public resorts to be avoided, 56, 105.

Racing with locomotives, 114.

Rations, 22, 102-104.

Recipes for cooking, 46-47.

Reckoning lost, 91.

Rests frequent advised, 50, 113, 114. should not be long, 50. at halts, 50, 56. to prevent sunstroke, 121.

Roll better than knapsack, 17.

Rotten trees dangerous, 60.

Route should be known, 9, 23, 92.

Rubber blanket, 16, 22, 58. for tents, 75. boots for dew, 95.

Sail-boat, 90, 118.

Salve for sunburn, chafing, &c., 53.

Screens of bushes, 69, 96.

Second day's march fatiguing, 54.

Shaving the head not advised, 11.

Shelters, 69-71, 96.

Shelter-tent, 17, 19, 70, 72-75. how to pitch, 70, 73-75. how made, 72-74. not good for ladies, 94. illustration of, 129.

Shirts instead of overcoat, 19. how made, 35. undershirts, 38.

Shoes, 36. slippers, 120.

Sickness:— Liability to, 14, 23, 55, 106. Remedies, 120, 121, 126. Insect in ear, 126. Cholera morbus, 126. Drowning, to restore from, 126-128. Poisons, treatment for, 128.

Sinks, 65.

Sketching advised, 109.

Skinning fish, 100.

Sleep on a hay-mow, 23. difficult first night, 54. for your comrades, 55. (see beds), 62. general advice about, 63, 64.

Slippers, 120.

Sluts for light, 62.

Smudge for mosquitoes, &c., 100.

Soap for foot-soreness, &c., 53. tents, 83.

Socks, 37.

Sod-cloth of tents, 78, 81.

Soldier's weight of outfit, 15. German, 16. rule for drinking, 51. trousers in socks, 54. preventive for chafing, 54. mattress, 63. shelter-tents, 72. rations, 103.

Spade, uses of, 47, 65, 88.

Speed proper to walk, 23, 51, 102, 114.

Spirits not needed, 55.

Stake, how driven, 96.

Starvation, do not risk, 21.

Stays to tent, 84.

Stencil-plate of postal card, 11.

Stimulation, nature and effects, 123.

Stockings, best kind on march, 37. pantaloons tucked into, 54. take off when wet, 120.

Stoves, &c., 11, 39-43. portable, 39-41. inside tent when cold, 66. top, 42.

Summer-houses, screens, &c., 96.

Sunburn, 53.

Sunstroke, 121.

Suspenders, 38.

Supplies for camping enumerated, 13.

Swimming, 118.

Table manners in camp, 96.

Taking cold, 118.

Tanning tent-cloth, 84.

Tea better than alcohol, 55, 124.

Tents, 72-89. best kind to use, 19, 88. made in wagon, 25. how to make "shelter," 72. how to make "A," 75. how to make "wall," 80. how to pitch "wall," 85. cloth for, 82. cloth, how preserved, 83, 89. fly, 82.

Tent-poles, whether to carry, 20. how made, 73, 79, 86. hand-barrow, 60.

Tent-pins, 20, 87.

Thirst, 51, 52, 121.

Tobacco, when to use, 124.

Tools, 25.

Training before journey, 12, 102.

Travelling acquaintances, 97.

Travelling afoot, 12, 14-34. horseback, 90. boating, 90, 118. expenses, 15, 23, 26, 34, 102. how fast, 23, 50, 102, 114. with hand-cart, 115.

Trench for offal, 65. around tent, 84. for fireplace, 67.

Trousers, 37-38.

Tub in boat, 91.

Ventilation, 64.

Wagon, general advice, 25, 31-33. made into tent, 25. man to walk behind, 34.

Walking, 50-59. how fast, 23, 50, 102, 114. at noon, 114. parties in White Mts., 34. one hundred miles, 102. eat before, 113.

Wall-tent, how made, &c., 80. to pitch quickly, 85.

Warm, how to keep, 66-70.

Water for drinking, 51. how to carry in pails, 68. none on mountains, 58.

Weekly supply for two men, 102.

Weight of outfit, 15, 21-23.

Wet and taking cold, 120. clothes, weight, 22.

Whims of soldiers, 21.

Woodman's camp, 69.

Woollen blanket, 19, 23. shirt, 19.

Yankee baker, 43.



* * * * *



Transcriber's Note:

Punctuation normalized.

Hyphenation changed to conform to majority of text.

Capitalization corrected.

Page 13, "usuually" changed to "usually" (tooth that usually)

Page 90, "gripe" changed to "grip" (hold its grip so)

Page 121, "comparativey" changed to "comparatively" (comparatively engorged)

Page 131, "opoldeldoc" changed to "opodeldoc" to conform to rest of text (ammoniate opodeldoc)

Page 132, added word "how" to conform to rest of text (how to catch in nets)

THE END