• Current Cotmnciits. 



321 



of stones and they were used as fol- 

 lows. A stick held to the snapper's 

 nose, a bite, then a pnll. If he gave 

 away a bit in following the pull, a 

 stone or two would be dropped in 

 behind him. It was hard, steady work, 

 but Sam and myself kept gaining little 

 by little. He was coming forward a 

 foot at a time, but he was coming. He 

 was game to the core. Not once did 

 he sulk. He would grab the stick, I 

 would pull and so would he. When I 

 got tired out and let go, he would do 

 the same. He wasn't going to fight 

 nothing. Then came another tussle. 

 It was a good two hours before Sam 

 and I had him in the grass of the 

 meadow and on his back. What a war 

 dance that little bare-footed darkey 

 gave! He pranced around and around 

 and so near that several times I had to 

 drag him away. He got so close to 

 that ugly head, the power of which I 

 knew, that fear for the lad's toes made 

 me grab for him as mentioned. A bit 

 of heavy linen black fish line was got 

 around his head, and then we dragged 

 the fellow through that meadow to the 

 road. How we got him home is still 

 an enigma to me. Farmer Wilson was 

 just coming in from the oat harvest for 

 his dinner when he saw us moving up 

 the road. Down he came to meet us. 

 All he could utter at first were the 

 words: "Well! I swear!" A big flat 

 stone in front of the kitchen door was 

 the place we laid him in, while, at Dad 

 Wilson's request, Mrs. Wilson went 

 after the "steelyards." Upon lifting 

 him up, the snapper — not Farmer 

 Wilson — turned up that beam to the 

 forty-one pound notch before it 

 dropped. He measured nineteen 

 inches from fore end of back shell to 

 the back. I regret that measurements 

 were not taken with the length from 



out-strecthed front claw to out- 

 stretched back ones. But, at that 

 time, I little dreamed that I should 

 ever have to record the size of that big 

 snapper, or of any other, for that mat- 

 ter. What did we do with him? Well! 

 the first thing we did was to get some 

 table salt and sprinkle it on the leeches 

 which covered the inner side of the 

 fore legs at the shoulder. There were 

 a good many of them too, certainly a 

 couple of dozen. So the old fellow's 

 life wasn't all fun anyhow. He was 

 then washed off with a broom as a 

 scrubbing brush, and then picked up 

 and dropped in that receptacle for the 

 vegetable and sour milk refuse of every 

 farmer's home, known as the swill 

 barrel. There he remained for two 

 weeks and to Sam's especial delight all 

 the time. Now comes the sequel which 

 Farmer Wilson told me of the next 

 year. A New York friend visited him 

 one Sunday, driving from town, in- 

 tending to drive back on Monday. His 

 name was John Finley and he was a 

 nephew of Farmer Wilson. Of course 

 the big snapper was shown, and Finley 

 bought him on the spot, intending to 

 take him back to town with him. Sam 

 was consoled for the loss of his "pet" 

 by a generous tip, big enough to buy 

 him candy for a month. I should 

 mention that Finley had a friend with 

 him. On Monday the snapper was 

 taken from his new home, tied about 

 the neck and legs with strong cord, and 

 placed in the wagon when Finley was 

 ready to start. Off they went, Finley 

 telling of what a party he intended to 

 have and how "snapper soup" would 

 bring back to the boys visions of their 

 old New England homes. Man pro- 

 poses, God disposes. Not a mile of 

 that ride had been traversed when that 

 snapper got loose. How, no man 



