Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 January 1917 — AGED HUNTSMAN FACES DEATH IN DENSE FORESTS [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AGED HUNTSMAN FACES DEATH IN DENSE FORESTS

Chicago Broker Is Unharmed After Being Lost Five Days * in Woods. BIS STORY OF DEATH FSlff Horace Jackson Relates Trying Experience. While Wandering in the Wilds of Northern Minnesota— Specter With Scythe Smirks at Him From Bukhes. Chicago!—A game old "huntsman, Horace Jackson, returned to Chicago the other day little the worse from an experience of five days and sour 1 ' nights wandering lost in the dense forests of northern Minnesota until exhaustion overcame him and he fell upon the snow-covered ground in surrender to a phantom that smirked at him from the bush—a phantom with a scythe. Aside from a badly frozen toe, Mr. Jackson reached home unharmed physically and mentally from his grueling adventure, which caused woodsmeu and lumbermen in the Ely hood to marvel at the sturdiness of this sixtyjhree-year-old Chicago business man. When he jumped from the train In the Northwestern station Mr. Jackson was greeted by a little party of friends and business associates. Among theni were Mrs. E. C. More, whose husband had accompanied Mr, Jackson on the hunting trip and with whom he resided at 1340 Sheridan road; Howard Jackson, Arthur Jackson and J. J. Bagley. , Given Great Surprise. If these people had expected to welcome home a hunter conquered by the woods and enfeebled from wandering

three days without food while exposed to winter weather they were greatly surprised by what they did see. Clad in a sheepskin-lined hunting coat and a hunter’s hat and with his feet buried snugly in Indian moccasins and woolen socks, Mr. Jackson stepped blithely from the car almost before the train came = to a stop. He was surtmmded by his friends, who inquired almost In unison as to his health. .. „ 7' “I’m here, all right,” was the reply, accompanied by a broad grin and a twinkle of the eyes, “an’ we got our bull, too.” Tq persons who do not Indulge In sporting magazines it may be explained that the term “bull” refers to a male moose —a bull moose. After congratulations and handshakes Mr. Jackson was bundled ibto an electric and- hustled to the apartment he shares with Mr.- and Mrs. More. - Telia .Story of Death Fight. There a reporter'found him later,and here is the story as told by the happy but apologetic huntsman : “Sit down here, young map, and I’ll tell you briefly and concisely the story of how an old man who has had some experience in the woods made a fool of himself,” said Mr. Jackson by way of preface. : ' ~ > , V'. -' ■/. “A week ago last -Thursday our party, consisting of Mr. More. Judge John Schaefer of Ely, his son. Howard, our Finnish guide, Tom, and myself, left Ely with all our luggage and tramped to .the little log cabin near the banks' of a lake fifteen miles distant, variously known as Nameless lake; Llftle lake, pr most anything you want to call It. “Friday morning four of us decided, to see what we could round op in the W - - ’ •>../

way of game, while Judge Schaefer re--named in camp to straighten things out. * “Tom came upon some moose tracks and followed them up. He bagged the animal, too, before he had gone very far. In a couple of hours we decided to still hunt, and separated for the purpose. "After a short timr I came upon a place that had been. occupied by a moose in sleeping during the night. Tracks leading away Into the brush .were distinctly visible, and I began to follow them.' After a time, when the marks failed to show any signs of freshness,-I decided it was useless to go farther and turned about, with the intention of working back toward camp. His Compass Goes Awry. _ “I took out my compass. It indicated that I had got away to the north of the trail. This didn’t seem right to me. I wondered if my instrument had become defective. An hour’s further walking failed to put me on my** bearings. A bitter cold wind begnn to blow. Added to this the brush became more dense, and walking was a matter of forcing my way through unfriendly branches that impeded every inch of the way before me. “Was I lost? This thought came upon me suddenly and with terrific force, like the unexpected bang of a high-powered rifle. I wouldn’t permit myself to believe it at first. My reputation as a woodsman was at stake. I sort of compromised the argument that had arisen between conscience and all the rest of myself, by deciding to settle dowif for the night and give up hope of getting back to camp until morning. “I climbed to the summit of a high hill and built a roaring fire. The fagots I had to gather, as I had gone away without an ax, a foolish thing, by the way, for a woodsman to do. Fires Rifle; Uses Smoke Signal. “Then I began firing my rifle. Shot away every shot but one. No woodsman ever will fire away his last shot. I ate the sandwiches, and immediately felt stronger. If it had then occurred to me that I was in for four more days of wandering you can bet I would have been more conservative with those sandwiches. “After that meal, my last real one for some time, I built another fire. Streams of smoke from tvyo fires is the Indian signal for being lost, and I tried it as a last hope. “Night came on fast. It usually does when one wishes it would not. The discomforts that darkness and night coldness brought make me shudder yet. The flames began to burn low around ten or eleven o’clock, and I put my feet right in the coals to keep them from freezing. I had to keep them there all night and at the same time drive off sleep, that threatened and threatened, ami might »have brought me death. “Saturday morning I started out, determined to find camp as soon as possible. But the ever-thickening brush was a continuous barrier. Ate Frozen Cranberries.

“Every now and then my route took me through the ice-cold waters of a marsh. But whatever inconvenience these marshes brought they probably were the means of saving my life. For, I plucked frozen cranberries from the bushes and they afforded me surprising nourishment. “Night d'galn brought Its discomforts and hours of agony, and another day did pot bring me nearer camp. “Tuesday, toward the middle of the day, I had reached the end of my endurance. My gun slipped from my fingers fend, fell upon the ground. I saw in the distance a log shack. I staggered toward it, and it seemed to me I found w>me brandy and food. “Then I laid down, confident that the end had come. Had Companion With Bcythe. “You ask me what my thoughts were durihg tHese Taßt hpum ril tplb you. I bad a companion, but he had a .scythe. He smirked at me from the bushes and again was by m.v side, in front of me and in baefc us me. ‘I may fool you; yet, old man,’ I tolil him. But I hardly believed I’d be able to. But I was. and .here lam able to tell about It” Mr. Jackson was found lying un-

conscious by a trapper named Charles Nelmi. His gun had been found first, and footprints led to where he lay. Investigation of Mr. Jackson’s tracks brought cut the ironic fact that on Saturday lie had wandered within 30 or 40 yards of the trail, just missing it. “Are you going back? We’re forming a hunting party for next week,” someone said at the station. “You bet I will;” was the reply of the gamest old hunter the Wisconsin woods have seen for many a year.

Horace Jackson.„