Fishinz in Texas. 



273 



levying- toll upon their banks. The 

 lola was brought up into the wind, the 

 anchor dropped and the jib lowered. 

 The skiff was then launched and the 

 five of us crowded into her, cast off and 

 pulled for shallow water. It was fine, 

 paddling around in the water, even if 

 we did have to wear shoes to protect 

 our feet, and it was not long before we 

 had fished tip as many oysters as we 

 thought we wanted and were back in 

 the sloop. 



Frank and I grabbed the anchor rope, 

 Fermin hoisted the jib, while Will ran 

 back to mind the tiller. But he did not 

 find it. In our hurry after oysters we 

 had failed to remove the tiller from 

 the rudder post, and it was too plainly 

 evident that the main sheet ropes had 

 jerked it overboard. We dropped the 

 anchor immediately, but the stiff breeze 

 now blowing had drifted us too far even 

 in that short time to stand any chance 

 of recovering it. The lost tiller was of 

 iron and as the bottom was soft a short 

 search showed the utter hopelessness of 

 finding it. 



A pretty fix, wasn't it ? Twenty 

 miles from nowhere and nothing to get 

 there with. 



We were in a quandary, but after 

 Fermin had relieved himself with a few 

 Spanish cuss words he pulled off the 

 hatches and in a few moments brought 

 forth a tiller that was evidently made 

 for the Great Eastern. Ten minutes 

 work with hatchet and knife fitted us 

 out after a fashion, but we didn't feel 

 exactly easy until the cruise was over 

 for that tiller wasn't exactly the best in 

 the world. 



By the time we again hoisted anchor 

 it was getting well along in the after- 

 noon and we had given up all idea of 

 reaching our destination before dark. 

 As it was the sun was just awaking 



when we entered the bayou or pass. 

 The islands here presented an entirely 

 different appearance from those at 

 Corpus Christi pass. Here they were 

 mere prairie like, and in the soft 

 evening light were beautiful. Their 

 edges were lined with the green waving- 

 sea grass, while from a distance the 

 islands themselves looked like well kept 

 lawns with here and there a small cedar 

 spread gracefully over the ground. 



The principal difference between the 

 two places, however, was in the absence 

 of bird life at Cedar bayou. Not that 

 there were no birds, but after the sights 

 at Corpus pass it seemed as though 

 there were none. There was, however, 

 an exception to this, for we saw a flock 

 of flamingoes, and handsome they were, 

 their bright pink showing against the 

 dark green background. This was the 

 first flock of these beautiful birds that 

 I had seen this Summer. 



As soon as we entered the bayou we 

 started supper, and by the time we had 

 finished we could see the breakers on 

 the Gulf side of the island, and had 

 reached our destination so tired that 

 we were only too glad to turn in for the 

 night. 



The next morning we were up bright 

 and early, and after a dip in the salt 

 water and a hearty breakfast were ready 

 for business. The cast nets were 

 brought out and a hunt for bait inaug- 

 urated. The hunt didn't last long for 

 mullet were plentiful, and we soon had 

 enough. Will and I were the only 

 ambitious ones, while Frank, Mac and 

 Fermin took the skiff and rowed over 

 to St. Joseph's Island. We fished 

 along the channel from Matagorda 

 Island with indifferent success. We 

 put in a very pleasant morning, and 

 although we did not catch many fish 

 we concluded that there were lots of 



