Frank, the Young Naturalist by Harry Castlemon
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Harry Castlemon >> Frank, the Young Naturalist
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12 FRANK AND ARCHIE SERIES
* * * * *
FRANK
THE YOUNG NATURALIST
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF "THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES,"
"THE GO-AHEAD SERIES," ETC.
1892
[Illustration]
THE GUN-BOAT SERIES.
FRANK, THE YOUNG NATURALIST,
FRANK ON A GUN-BOAT,
FRANK IN THE WOODS,
FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE,
FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG,
FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE HOME OF THE YOUNG NATURALIST
CHAPTER II.
AN UGLY CUSTOMER
CHAPTER III.
THE MUSEUM
CHAPTER IV.
A RACE ON THE WATER
CHAPTER V.
A FISHING EXCURSION
CHAPTER VI.
THE REGULATORS
CHAPTER VII.
THE REVENGE
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW TO SPEND THE "FOURTH"
CHAPTER IX.
THE COAST-GUARDS OUTWITTED
CHAPTER X.
A QUEER COURSE
CHAPTER XI.
TROUT-FISHING
CHAPTER XII.
A DUCK-HUNT ON THE WATER
CHAPTER XIII.
A 'COON-HUNT
CHAPTER XIV.
BILL LAWSON'S REVENGE
CHAPTER XV.
WILD GEESE
CHAPTER XVI.
A CHAPTER OF INCIDENTS
CHAPTER XVII.
THE GRAYHOUND OUTGENERALED
FRANK, THE YOUNG NATURALIST.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
THE HOME OF THE YOUNG NATURALIST.
About one hundred miles north of Augusta, the Capital of Maine, the
little village of Lawrence is situated. A range of high hills skirts
its western side, and stretches away to the north as far as the eye
can reach; while before the village, toward the east, flows the
Kennebec River.
Near the base of the hills a beautiful stream, known as Glen's Creek,
has its source; and, after winding through the adjacent meadows, and
reaching almost around the village, finally empties into the Kennebec.
Its waters are deep and clear, and flow over a rough, gravelly bed,
and under high banks, and through many a little nook where the perch
and sunfish love to hide. This creek, about half a mile from its
mouth, branches off, forming two streams, the smaller of which flows
south, parallel with the river for a short distance, and finally
empties into it. This stream is known as Ducks' Creek, and it is very
appropriately named; for, although it is but a short distance from the
village, every autumn, and until late in the spring, its waters are
fairly alive with wild ducks, which find secure retreats among the
high bushes and reeds which line its banks. The island formed by these
two creeks is called Reynard's Island, from the fact that for several
years a sly old fox had held possession of it in spite of the efforts
of the village boys to capture him. The island contains, perhaps,
twenty-five acres, and is thickly covered with hickory-trees; and
there is an annual strife between the village boys and the squirrels,
to see which can gather the greater quantity of nuts.
Directly opposite the village, near the middle of the river, is
another island, called Strawberry Island, from the great quantity of
that fruit which it produces.
The fishing-grounds about the village are excellent. The river affords
great numbers of perch, black bass, pike, and muscalonge; and the
numberless little streams that intersect the country fairly swarm with
trout, and the woods abound in game. This attracts sportsmen from
other places; and the _Julia Burton_, the little steamer that plies up
and down the river, frequently brings large parties of amateur
hunters and fishermen, who sometimes spend months enjoying the rare
sport.
It was on the banks of Glen's Creek, about half a mile from the
village, in a neat little cottage that stood back from the road, and
which was almost concealed by the thick shrubbery and trees that
surrounded it, that FRANK NELSON, the young naturalist, lived. His
father had been a wealthy merchant in the city of Boston; and, after
his death, Mrs. Nelson had removed into the country with her children,
and bought the place of which we are speaking. Frank was a handsome,
high-spirited boy, about sixteen years of age. He was kind,
open-hearted, and generous; and no one in the village had more friends
than he. But his most prominent characteristic was perseverance. He
was a slow thinker, and some, perhaps, at first sight, would have
pronounced him "dull;" but the unyielding application with which he
devoted himself to his studies, or to any thing else he undertook,
overcame all obstacles; and he was further advanced, and his knowledge
was more thorough than that of any other boy of the same age in the
village. He never gave up any thing he undertook because he found it
more difficult than he had expected, or hurried over it in a
"slipshod" manner, for his motto was, "Whatever is worth doing at all,
is worth doing well."
At the time of which we write Frank was just entering upon what he
called a "long vacation." He had attended the high-school of which the
village boasted for nearly eight years, with no intermission but the
vacations, and during this time he had devoted himself with untiring
energy to his studies. He loved his books, and they were his constant
companions. By intense application he succeeded in working his way
into the highest class in school, which was composed of young men much
older than himself, and who looked upon him, not as a fellow-student,
but as a rival, and used every exertion to prevent him from keeping
pace with them. But Frank held his own in spite of their efforts, and
not unfrequently paid them back in their own coin by committing his
lessons more thoroughly than they.
Things went on so for a considerable time. Frank, whose highest
ambition was to be called the best scholar in his class, kept steadily
gaining ground, and one by one the rival students were overtaken and
distanced. But Frank had some smart scholars matched against him, and
he knew that the desired reputation was not to be obtained without a
fierce struggle; and every moment, both in and out of school, was
devoted to study.
He had formerly been passionately fond of rural sports, hunting and
fishing, but now his fine double-barrel gun, which he had always taken
especial care to keep in the best possible "shooting order," hung in
its accustomed place, all covered with dust. His fishing-rod and
basket were in the same condition; and Bravo, his fine hunting-dog,
which was very much averse to a life of inactivity, made use of his
most eloquent whines in vain.
At last Frank's health began to fail rapidly. His mother was the first
to notice it, and at the suggestion of her brother, who lived in
Portland, she decided to take Frank out of school for at least one
year, and allow him but two hours each day for study. Perhaps some of
our young readers would have been very much pleased at the thought of
so long a respite from the tiresome duties of school; but it was a
severe blow to Frank. A few more months, he was confident, would have
carried him ahead of all competitors. But he always submitted to his
mother's requirements, no matter how much at variance with his own
wishes, without murmuring; and when the spring term was ended he took
his books under his arm, and bade a sorrowful farewell to his
much-loved school-room.
It is June, and as Frank has been out of school almost two months,
things begin to wear their old, accustomed look again. The young
naturalist's home, as his schoolmates were accustomed to say, is a
"regular curiosity shop." Perhaps, reader, if we take a stroll about
the premises, we can find something to interest us.
Frank's room, which he called his "study," is in the south wing of the
cottage. It has two windows, one looking out toward the road, and the
other covered with a thick blind of climbing roses, which almost shut
out the light. A bookcase stands beside one of the windows, and if you
were to judge from the books it contained, you would pronounce Frank
quite a literary character. The two upper shelves are occupied by
miscellaneous books, such as Cooper's novels, Shakspeare's works, and
the like. On the next two shelves stand Frank's choicest
books--natural histories; there are sixteen large volumes, and he
knows them almost by heart. The drawers in the lower part of the case
are filled on one side with writing materials, and on the other with
old compositions, essays, and orations, some of which exhibit a power
of imagination and a knowledge of language hardly to be expected in a
boy of Frank's age. On the top of the case, at either end, stand the
busts of Clay and Webster, and between them are two relics of
Revolutionary times, a sword and musket crossed, with the words
"Bunker Hill" printed on a slip of paper fastened to them. On the
opposite side of the room stands a bureau, the drawers of which are
filled with clothing, and on the top are placed two beautiful
specimens of Frank's handiwork. One is a model of a "fore-and-aft"
schooner, with whose rigging or hull the most particular tar could not
find fault. The other represents a "scene at sea." It is inclosed in a
box about two feet long and a foot and a half in hight. One side of
the box is glass, and through it can be seen two miniature vessels.
The craft in the foreground would be known among sailors as a "Jack."
She is neither a brig nor a bark, but rather a combination of both.
She is armed, and the cannon can be seen protruding from her
port-holes. Every sail is set, and she seems to be making great
exertion to escape from the other vessel, which is following close in
her wake. The flag which floats at her peak, bearing the sign of the
"skull and cross-bones," explains it all: the "Jack" is a pirate; and
you could easily tell by the long, low, black hull, and tall, raking
masts that her pursuer is a revenue cutter. The bottom of the box, to
which the little vessels are fastened in such a manner that they
appear to "heel" under the pressure of their canvas, is cut out in
little hollows, and painted blue, with white caps, to resemble the
waves of the ocean; while a thick, black thunder-cloud, which is
painted on the sides of the box, and appears to be rising rapidly,
with the lightning playing around its ragged edges, adds greatly to
the effect of the scene.
At the north end of the room stands a case similar to the one in which
Frank keeps his books, only it is nearly twice as large. It is filled
with stuffed "specimens"--birds, nearly two hundred in number. There
are bald eagles, owls, sparrows, hawks, cranes, crows, a number of
different species of ducks, and other water-fowl; in short, almost
every variety of the feathered creation that inhabited the woods
around Lawrence is here represented.
At the other end of the room stands a bed concealed by curtains.
Before it is a finely carved wash-stand, on which are a pitcher and
bowl, and a towel nicely folded lies beside them. In the corner, at
the foot of the bed, is what Frank called his "sporting cabinet." A
frame has been erected by placing two posts against the wall, about
four feet apart; and three braces, pieces of board about six inches
wide, and long enough to reach from one post to the other, are
fastened securely to them. On the upper brace a fine jointed
fish-pole, such as is used in "heavy" fishing, protected by a neat,
strong bag of drilling, rests on hooks which have been driven securely
into the frame; and from another hook close by hangs a large
fish-basket which Frank, who is a capital fisherman, has often brought
in filled with the captured denizens of the river or some favorite
trout-stream. On the next lower brace hang a powder-flask and
shot-pouch and a double-barrel shot-gun, the latter protected from the
damp and dust by a thick, strong covering. On the lower brace hang the
clothes the young naturalist always wears when he goes hunting or
fishing--a pair of sheep's-gray pantaloons, which will resist water
and dirt to the last extremity, a pair of long boots, a blue
flannel-shirt, such as is generally worn by the sailors, and an
India-rubber coat and cap for rainy weather. A shelf has been fastened
over the frame, and on this stands a tin box, which Frank calls his
"fishing-box." It is divided into apartments, which are filled with
fish-hooks, sinkers, bobbers, artificial flies, spoon-hooks, reels,
and other tackle, all kept in the nicest order.
Frank had one sister, but no brothers. Her name was Julia. She was ten
years of age; and no boy ever had a lovelier sister. Like her brother,
she was unyielding in perseverance, but kind and trusting in
disposition, willing to be told her faults that she might correct
them. Mrs. Nelson was a woman of good, sound sense; always required
implicit obedience of her children; never flattered them, nor allowed
others to do so if she could prevent it. The only other inmate of the
house was Aunt Hannah, as the children called her. She had formerly
been a slave in Virginia, and, after years of toil, had succeeded in
laying by sufficient money to purchase her freedom. We have already
spoken of Frank's dog; but were we to allow the matter to drop here it
would be a mortal offense in the eyes of the young naturalist, for
Bravo held a very prominent position in his affections. He was a
pure-blooded Newfoundland, black as jet, very active and courageous,
and there was nothing in the hunting line that he did not understand;
and it was a well-established saying among the young Nimrods of the
village, that Frank, with Bravo's assistance, could kill more
squirrels in any given time than any three boys in Lawrence.
CHAPTER II.
An Ugly Customer.
Directly behind the cottage stands a long, low, neatly constructed
building, which is divided by partitions into three rooms, of which
one is used as a wood-shed, another for a carpenter's shop, and the
third is what Frank calls his "museum." It contains stuffed birds and
animals, souvenirs of many a well-contested fight. Let us go and
examine them. About the middle of the building is the door which leads
into the museum, and, as you enter, the first object that catches your
eye is a large wild-cat, crouched on a stand which is elevated about
four feet above the floor, his back arched, every hair in his body
sticking toward his head, his mouth open, displaying a frightful array
of teeth, his ears laid back close to his head, and his sharp claws
spread out, presenting altogether a savage appearance; and you are
glad that you see him dead and stuffed, and not alive and running at
liberty in the forest in the full possession of strength. But the
young naturalist once stood face to face with this ugly customer under
very different circumstances.
About forty miles north of Lawrence lives an old man named Joseph
Lewis. He owns about five hundred acres of land, and in summer he
"farms it" very industriously; but as soon as the trapping season
approaches he leaves his property to the care of his hired men, and
spends most of the time in the woods. About two-thirds of his farm is
still in its primeval state, and bears, wild-cats, and panthers abound
in great numbers. The village boys are never more delighted than when
the winter vacation comes, and they can gain the permission of their
parents to spend a fortnight with "Uncle Joe," as they call him.
The old man is always glad to see them, and enlivens the long winter
evenings with many a thrilling story of his early life. During the
winter that had just passed, Frank, in company with his cousin Archie
Winters, of whom more hereafter, paid a visit to Uncle Joe. One cold,
stormy morning, as they sat before a blazing fire, cracking
hickory-nuts, the farmer burst suddenly into the house, which was
built of logs, and contained but one room, and commenced taking down
his rifle.
"What's the matter, Uncle Joe?" inquired Archie.
"Matter!" repeated the farmer; "why, some carnal varmint got into my
sheep-pen last night, and walked off with some of my mutton. Come," he
continued, as he slung on his bullet-pouch, "let's go and shoot him."
Frank and Archie were ready in a few minutes; and, after dropping a
couple of buck-shot into each barrel of their guns, followed the
farmer out to the sheep-pen. It was storming violently, and it was
with great difficulty that they could find the "varmint's" track.
After half an hour's search, however, with the assistance of the
farmer's dogs, they discovered it, and began to follow it up, the dogs
leading the way. But the snow had fallen so deep that it almost
covered the scent, and they frequently found themselves at fault.
After following the track for two hours, the dogs suddenly stopped at
a pile of hemlock-boughs, and began to whine and scratch as if they
had discovered something.
"Wal," said Uncle Joe, dropping his rifle into the hollow of his arm,
"the hounds have found some of the mutton, but the varmint has took
himself safe off."
The boys quickly threw aside the boughs, and in a few moments the
mangled remains of one of the sheep were brought to light. The thief
had probably had more than enough for one meal, and had hidden the
surplus carefully away, intending, no doubt, to return and make a
meal of it when food was not quite so plenty.
"Wal, boys," said the farmer, "no use to try to foller the varmint any
further. Put the sheep back where you found it, and this afternoon you
can take one of your traps and set it so that you can ketch him when
he comes back for what he has left." So saying, he shouldered his
rifle and walked off, followed by his hounds.
In a few moments the boys had placed every thing as they had found it
as nearly as possible, and hurried on after the farmer.
That afternoon, after disposing of an excellent dinner, Frank and
Archie started into the woods to set a trap for the thief. They took
with them a large wolf-trap, weighing about thirty pounds. It was a
"savage thing," as Uncle Joe said, with a powerful spring on each
side, which severely taxed their united strength in setting it; and
its thick, stout jaws, which came together with a noise like the
report of a gun, were armed with long, sharp teeth; and if a wolf or
panther once got his foot between them, he might as well give up
without a struggle. Instead of their guns, each shouldered an ax.
Frank took possession of the trap, and Archie carried a piece of heavy
chain with which to fasten the "clog" to the trap. Half an hour's walk
brought them to the place where the wild-cat had buried his plunder.
After considerable exertion they succeeded in setting the trap, and
placed it in such a manner that it would be impossible for any animal
to get at the sheep without being caught. The chain was them fastened
to the trap, and to this was attached the clog, which was a long,
heavy limb. Trappers, when they wish to take such powerful animals as
the bear or panther, always make use of the clog. They never fasten
the trap to a stationary object. When the animal finds that he is
caught, his first impulse is to run. The clog is not heavy enough to
hold him still, but as he drags it through the woods, it is
continually catching on bushes and frees, and retarding his progress.
But if the animal should find himself unable to move at all, his long,
sharp teeth would be put to immediate use, and he would hobble off on
three feet, leaving the other in the trap.
After adjusting the clog to their satisfaction, they threw a few
handfuls of snow over the trap and chain, and, after bestowing a few
finishing touches, they shouldered their axes and started toward the
house. The next morning, at the first peep of day, Frank and Archie
started for the woods, with their dogs close at their heels. As they
approached the spot where the trap had been placed they held their
guns in readiness, expecting to find the wild-cat secure. But they
were disappointed; every thing was just as they had left it, and
there were no signs of the wild-cat having been about during the
night. Every night and morning for a week they were regular in their
visits to the trap, but not even a twig had been moved. Two weeks more
passed, and during this time they visited the trap but once. At length
the time allotted for their stay at Uncle Joe's expired. On the
evening previous to the day set for their departure, as they sat
before the huge, old-fashioned fireplace, telling stories and eating
nuts. Uncle Joe suddenly inquired, "Boys, did you bring in your trap
that you set for that wild-cat?"
They had not thought of it; they had been hunting nearly every day,
enjoying rare sport, and they had entirely forgotten that they had a
trap to look after.
"We shall be obliged to let it go until to-morrow," said Frank.
And the next morning, as soon as it was light, he was up and dressed,
and shouldering an ax, set out with Brave as a companion, leaving
Archie in a sound sleep. It was very careless in him not to take his
gun--a "regular boy's trick," as Uncle Joe afterward remarked; but it
did not then occur to him that he was acting foolishly; and he trudged
off, whistling merrily. A few moments' rapid walking brought him to
the place where the trap had been set. How he started! There lay the
remains of the sheep all exposed. The snow near it was saturated with
blood, and the trap, clog, and all were gone. What was he to do? He
was armed with an ax, and he knew that with it he could make but a
poor show of resistance against an enraged wild animal; and he knew,
too, that one that could walk off with fifty pounds fast to his leg
would be an ugly customer to handle. He had left Brave some distance
back, digging at a hole in a stump where a mink had taken refuge, and
he had not yet come up. If the Newfoundlander had been by his side he
would have felt comparatively safe. Frank stood for some minutes
undecided how to act. Should he go back to the house and get
assistance? Even if he had concluded to do so he would not have
considered himself a coward; for, attacking a wounded wild-cat in the
woods, with nothing but an ax to depend on, was an undertaking that
would have made a larger and stronger person than Frank hesitate.
Their astonishing activity and strength, and wonderful tenacity of
life, render them antagonists not to be despised. Besides, Frank was
but a boy, and although strong and active for his age, and possessing
a good share of determined courage that sometimes amounted almost to
rashness, it must be confessed that his feelings were not of the most
enviable nature. He had not yet discovered the animal, but he knew
that he could not be a great distance off, for the weight of the trap
and clog would retard him exceedingly; and he judged, from the
appearance of things, that he had not been long in the trap; perhaps,
at that very moment, his glaring eyes were fastened upon him from some
neighboring thicket.
But the young naturalist was not one to hesitate long because there
was difficulty or danger before him. He had made up his mind from the
first to capture that wild-cat if possible, and now the opportunity
was fairly before him. His hand was none of the steadiest as he drew
off his glove and placed his fingers to his lips; and the whistle that
followed was low and tremulous, very much unlike the loud, clear call
with which he was accustomed to let Brave know that he was wanted and
he hardly expected that the dog would hear it. A faint, distant bark,
however, announced that the call had been heard, and in a few moments
Frank heard Brave's long-measured bounds as he dashed through the
bushes; and when the faithful animal came in sight, he felt that he
had a friend that would stand by him to the last extremity. At this
juncture Frank was startled by a loud rattling in the bushes, and the
next moment the wild-cat sprang upon a fallen log, not half a dozen
rods from the place where he was standing, and, growling fiercely,
crouched and lashed his sides with his tail as if about to spring
toward him. The trap hung from one of his hind-legs, but by some means
he had relieved himself of the clog and chain, and he moved as if the
weight of the trap were no inconvenience whatever. The young
naturalist was frightened indeed, but bravely stood his ground, and
clutched his ax desperately. What would he not have given to have had
his trusty double-barrel in his hands! But he was not allowed much
time for reflection. Brave instantly discovered the wild-cat, and
sprang toward him, uttering an angry growl. Frank raised his ax and
rushed forward to his assistance, and cheered on the dog with a voice
which, to save his life, he could not raise above a whisper. The
wild-cat crouched lower along the log, and his actions seemed to
indicate that he intended to show fight. Brave's long, eager bounds
brought him nearer and nearer to his enemy. A moment more and he could
have seized him; but the wild-cat suddenly turned and sprang lightly
into the air, and, catching his claws into a tree that stood full
twenty feet distant, ascended it like a streak of light; and, after
settling himself between two large limbs, glared down upon his foes as
if he were already ashamed of having made a retreat, and had half a
mind to return and give them battle. Brave reached the log just a
moment too late, and finding his enemy fairly out of his reach, he
quietly seated himself at the foot of the tree and waited for Frank to
come up.
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