One spring, accompanied by Mr. W. B. Buckingham, cashier of one of the national banks at Stevens Point, who also owned interests in valuable pine timber lands adjacent to, or near by those in which I owned interests, I went into the countries of the Spirit and Willow Rivers. The snow was melting and the waters nearly filled the banks of the respective streams. Wishing to cross the Spirit River, we found a point where an island occupied the near center of the stream, on which was a little standing timber. A tree was felled, the top of which landed on the island. Having crossed on the tree to the island, we felled another tree which reached from the island to the farther shore. It was not large in diameter, and, under the weight of Mr. Buckingham, who first proceeded, it swayed until he lost his balance and fell into the water and was obliged to swim to the opposite shore. I was more fortunate in this instance, and stayed on the tree until I reached the shore.
"We succeeded in crossing Burnt Side Lake". (Page [146].)
Swimming in ice water is never found comfortable, and we hurried to a close at hand, deserted logging camp, where, fortunately, we found a large heating stove set up and ready for use, and near by a fine pile of dry wood for the stove, which had been left over from the recent winter's operations of logging. In a few minutes, a rousing fire was made, and, after removing his garments and wringing them as dry as possible, we hung them on lines about the stove and quickly dried them and made them ready for use. This was necessary, as no change of clothing had been provided for this intended short excursion into the woods.
By the time our work was finished, the snow had mostly melted away. The ice was all out of the rivers, and we found ourselves one morning on the banks of the Tomahawk River, wondering how we were to cross it, if possible, without the delay of constructing a raft sufficiently large to carry us. The tote-road leading to Merrill, which we wished to follow, was on the opposite side of the Tomahawk from where we approached it. We finally discovered an old birch canoe hidden in the brush. It was leaky and in very bad repair, so we set ourselves to work gathering pitch from the ends of a pile of freshly cut pine logs lying on the bank of the river, banked there to be pushed into the stream by the log drivers. This we put into a dish with a little grease and boiled until it was of the right consistency to stick to the bark of the canoe. Patches of cloth were laid over the riven places in the bark, and pitched until the boat was made waterproof—for temporary use at least.
With our small belongings, we got into the canoe and started down the Tomahawk, intending to stay in it as long as it would hold together and take us on our journey, saving us that much walking. Unfortunately, however, for us, we soon came to a long strip of rapids with which we were not familiar. Selecting what we believed to be the best water, we permitted the frail craft to float into the rapids, and our fast journey down stream had begun almost before we realized the fact. All went well until nearly to the lower end of the rapids, when the old canoe struck a sharp rock slightly hidden under the water, and split in two. Partly by swimming and partly by wading, we reached the coveted shore, wetter and wiser than when an hour before we had taken an old canoe that was not our own, in which to cross the stream, instead of spending considerably more time to construct a raft on which we could safely and with dry clothes, have reached the opposite shore. The usual woodsman's process of drying clothes was again gone through with, since it was too cold, at that season of the year, to travel all day in our wet garments.
One early summer day while traveling through a part of this same country, watered by the Willow River, my companion and I stopped in a majestic forest of towering white pine trees, interspersed with the more spreading hemlocks. It was nearing twelve o'clock, and we were both hungry. While my companion was collecting wood for a fire, I went in search of water with which to make a pail of hot coffee. Returning, I climbed over a large hemlock tree that had fallen, probably, from old age. There, nestled in the moss and leaves, lay a spotted fawn. It made no effort to get up and run from me, so I carefully approached it and gently caressed it. Then I lifted the handsome little creature, with its great, trusting brown eyes, into my arms, and carried it near to our camp fire. While my helper was preparing dinner, I fondled this beautiful infant of the forest that yet knew no fear. I sweetened some water to which I added just a sprinkle of meal, then fed it from a spoon to this confiding baby animal. After this, when I moved, the trusting little creature followed me. When it came time for us to resume our work I carried my little newly found friend back to the spot where its mother had probably left it and put it down in its mossy, leafy bed, and, carefully climbing over the log, left it to be better cared for than it was possible for me to do.