Old Herc—A Salt Water Fisher 
if a fish had been on his hook, would 
have pulled his gills out, or perhaps torn 
his head completely off; at the same 
time speaking either to the fish or to 
himself. ‘‘Now mind yerself; don’t 
fool yerself too much wid dat bait; rec- 
ollect ole Hiere’S.at de order endo’, de 
line, an’ he’s shore def to fishes.” He 
would then pull up his line, only to find 
that all the bait had been nibbled off. 
After a few performances of this kind, 
he said: 
iver allers “tound dat ¢€f Igo to 
sleep, or make believe, dat de trouts ’1 
bite, an’ I’m gwine to fool ’em now.” 
Herc put on fresh bait, and throw- 
ing his line overboard stretched out his 
huge form across the thwart and began 
to snore vigorously. Bright and I had 
forgotten all about him, so intent were 
we with our own lines, when, with a 
spring that almost capsized the boat, he 
rolled off the thwart, upsetting the ‘:Gin- 
ral,” which fortunately fell on asponge 
which we used to bail out the boat, at 
the same time exclaiming: 
‘‘Gashamighty! Neber felt de like 
im all my life. Must o’ ben a shirk. 
Reckon he’s tuek bait, hook an’ all. I'll 
fest pullman. seen) (Pulls up his) line, 
talking all the time.) ‘‘ Didn’t ye see 
how he bore on dat line. Lawd, ef I’d 
hooked him we’d hed some fun, now 
mind I tell ye.” 
Herc hauled in his line and found 
that the bait hadn’t been disturbed, and 
I had a hearty laugh at him. 
fWiou te; dreaming,” Said. Bright; 
‘‘you had no bite; you’re a regular 
nuisance in a boat; you don’t know 
how to fish.”’ 
Herc’s countenance was the picture 
of blank amazement. He looked at his 
hooks, each with half a clam on it, and 
then at us, and said: 
‘¢ Bless de Lawd! Ef I hedn’t a bite 
15 
of a shirk I hope I may never go to 
heaven. Datere shirk must o’ bit at 
de dipsy. Look, now, I swaref I doan 
See de marks 0’ .his teef.on de lead!” 
‘Take another drink, Herc, and try 
some other plan,” said I. Here tooka 
drink, and said: 
‘*T allers tuk notice ef I begun to tell 
a yarn de fishes wor sure tobite. Now 
iniitellye one, Wo rye (see dat white 
house away off dar on yan side o’ dat 
bunch o’ trees? Well, I used to live 
dar. My ole master (Here had been 
born a slave) used to own dat farm, an’ 
dar’s whar I was raised. My, oh! 
What happy days I’se spent dar—yes, 
indeedy. De ole man hed a boy (Jack), 
he was de orneriest cuss I eber knowed 
—neber worked—neber done nuffin but 
debil ’round an’ git into trouble. He 
was a bully fellow, though; mean’ him 
laid out in de woods many a night, 
coon an’ possum huntin’; we used to 
build a big fire an’ roast sweet ‘taters 
in de hot ashes, an’ on our way home 
stop at de ale mill an’ git a drink o’ 
cider ’—(another tremendous jerk at 
his line, and, hauling in hand over hand, 
exclaimed—'‘‘got ‘im dis time shore 
"‘nuff,’’ and he landed a fine trout into 
the boat, which tickled him amazingly. 
After baiting and throwing his line 
overboard again he resumed his story.) 
‘“‘Ves, genelmen, dem was happy 
times, but dey’ll neber come back. 
Now dis boy Jack was allers a gittin’ 
into trouble, but de wust trouble hap- 
pened one night when we was out 
huntin’. Jack knowed all de boys in 
de hull neighborhood, an’ he was kinder 
boss ober ‘em, but dey liked him fur 
all; and: ef he said, ‘ Boys, let’s. go 
huntin’, he jest could get all de dogs 
he wanted—an all de boys, too. One 
night we made up to hev a big hunt; 
it was jest ‘bout huskin’ time, an’ a 

