118 BASS-FISHING IN SUNGAHNEETUK 



and dry it again with smoke of the Virginian and 

 the ranker Northern weed, home-grown by Ruis- 

 seau. The ashes and charred brands of a recent 

 fishing-fire remind him of his favorite sport, con- 

 cerning which he discourses: "I'd dnidder feesh 

 fo' buU-pawt as basses." This he does at night, by 

 the cheerful hght of a pine-knot fire, with his spar 

 of cedar and stout line and big hook baited with a 

 tangle of worms, and anchored with a ponderous 

 sinker, the splash of which, when he casts it, 

 rouses echoes out of the circle of gloom which sur- 

 rounds him. Sometimes he gets a hundred bull- 

 pouts and two or three or more eels. "An' de eel 

 an' de bull-pawt ees de bes' feesh I'ms like, ex- 

 pectin' shad": by which he means to except the 

 white fish of the lake, known here as "lake shad." 

 Ruisseau having reslain his thousands, I resume 

 actual fishing, and soon behold a monstrous bass, 

 who lounges leisurely up to inspect my bait and 

 then turns contemptuously away. He has an eye 

 upon me through the limpid depths. He is a vet- 

 eran cruiser of these waters, and knows the tricks 

 of men — a philosopher who can trace effect back 

 to cause, from struggling minnow along line and 

 rod to the guiding hand on shore. Again and again 

 I tempt him, to no purpose, and then reluctantly 

 leave him, to try for less sophisticated fish below, 

 but noting his haunt by a certain bush. A Uttle 

 later I return, making a wide detour, and, when I 



