ARROW-FISHING. 69 
an hour. As the season advances, three or four taken 
in the same length of time, is considered quite good 
success. 
To stand upon the shore, and see the arrow-fisherman 
busily employed, is a very interesting exhibition of 
skill, and of the picturesque. The little “dug out” 
seems animate with intelligence ; the bowman draws his 
long shaft, you see it enter the water, and then follows 
the glowing sight of the fine fish sparkling in the sun, as 
if sprinkled with diamonds. 
At times, too, when legitimate sport tires, some ra- 
venous gar that heaves in sight, is made a victim; aim 
is taken just ahead of his dorsal fin; secured, he floun- 
ders a while, and then drags off the canoe as if in har- 
ness, skimming it almost out of the water with his speed. 
Fatigued, finally, with his useless endeavours to escape, 
he will rise to the surface, open his huge mouth, and 
gasp for air. The water that streams from his jaws 
will be colored with blood from the impaled fish that 
still struggle in the terrors of his barbed teeth. Rush- 
ing ahead again, he will, by eccentric movements, try 
the best skill of the paddler to keep his canoe from 
overturning into the lake, a consummation not always 
unattained. The gar finally dies, and is dragged ashore ; 
this buzzard revels on his carcass, and every piscator 
contemplates, with disgust, the great enemy to his game, 
this terrible monarch of the fresh-water seas. 
The crumbling character of the alluvial banks that 
