Another Week on the Xanta/ia/a. 



213 



mountains — mostly mountains — and 

 whose residence was one of the inns 

 on the old g-overnment postal road over 

 the Blue Ridge and Big Smokey Motm- 

 tains. 



In the distribution of quarters, a 

 second floor chamber, with three beds, 



fell to the lot of Col. M , Mr. P 



and Max, while " Young-Man- Afraid 

 of-the- Water, " myself and the com- 

 missariat were relegated to a ground 

 floor room, containing two beds. Din- 

 ner over, we began to get ready to go 

 a -fishing. Everybody being fully 

 equipped, we marched to the river, 

 which runs " yan " side of a small 

 meadow. 



" Young-Man- Afraid-of - the- Water " 



took Max and Mr. P under his 



wing, and walked up the stream to fish 

 down, while the Colonel and I started 

 in at the pool in front of the house. 



We each took three good fish out of 

 this pool. The Colonel's success, right 

 from the jump, augured a bright and 

 glorious future; but the fickle goddess 

 seems to have forsaken him at the foot 

 of this pool, for not another fin did he 

 take, and the first day was the begin- 

 ning and the end to all the Colonel's 

 fond aspirations to become an expert 

 fly caster. At the round-up that night, 

 the score stood twelve for the three 

 lip river party and twelve for Colonel 

 and I. That night, while enjoying our 

 pipes and recounting the events of the 

 evening's fish, it was voted unfair that 

 "Young - Man- Afraid - of - the -Water " 

 should strut about and flaunt his supe- 

 riority as the only "heap-big Indian" 

 in the party, and, that honors might be 

 equal, the Colonel was di;bbed " Old- 

 Man- Stay- Ashore;" Mr. P , "Old- 

 Man - Fall - Down -in -the- Water;" Max, 

 "Young-Man-Gone-on-Mineral-Water;" 

 and the writer, " 01d-j\Ian-Trying-to- 



Get- Used -to -the -Water," and "Old- 

 Man-With- Flies-on-His-Stomach, " the 

 latter from the fact that I carried my 

 fly book in a pocket on the inside and 

 top of my waders. The morning of 

 the second day, I fished from daylight 

 until seven o'clock, without a strike 

 from a good fish. 



After breakfast, we divided our forces 

 as on the previous evening, the Colonel 

 and I to fish down stream; but it 

 appears he soon became discouraged, 

 and cut a bee-line back to the house. 

 At least, when I came in, two or three 

 hours later, his rod lay on the shelf, 

 and his' fishing clothes had given place 

 to his society suit, never to regain their 

 supreinacy during the outing. 



The rest of the party soon came in 

 with a few more trout than I could 

 produce, but as they brought in mar- 

 velous reports of the big strings the 

 native market fishermen were taking 

 with bait, it was not entirely clear that 

 they had not parted company with one 

 of these market fishermen, he walking 

 off with part of their wealth, and they 

 with his string of trout. 



I do not present this in the form of 

 an indiftment against these honorable 

 gentlemen. I pose before the readers 

 of The American Angler in the simple 

 and unostentatious garb of the histo- 

 rian of the outing, and as such I would 

 prove recreant to the trust imposed, 

 did I fail to record the incidents and 

 happenings as they occurred, besmirch 

 whom they may. 



And it came to pass, on this self- 

 same day, that the congenial and all- 

 around conscientious "Old-Man-Stay- 

 Ashore " interviewed one of these mar- 

 ket fishermen, with a hundred or more 

 trout on his bark stringer, and imme- 

 diately thereafter, with more money in 

 his trousers pockets than true angling 



