THE THOUSAND ISLES. 201 



exposed to the full fury of the wind, and the water 

 dashed in over the bow or broke against the side, while 

 the oarsman had all he could manage to row against the 

 blast. 



Round and round this spot we moved, ever with the 

 same result; the lines were not half out before they 

 would be seized, it was almost impossible to keep the two 

 rods in play. This lasted till we were both utterly worn 

 out with the excitement and the exertion, and were com- 

 pelled to give up from sheer exhaustion. My fingers had 

 many a bloody mark left by the reel-handle, that a sudden 

 rush had jerked from my grasp, and being compelled in 

 the uncomfortable seat to turn my body round to reel up, 

 my back .was almost broken. The man . had rowed as 

 long as he could, but was forced to run down between 

 the Powder-horn and Shot-bag Islands and rest awhile 

 before breasting the storm homeward. 



We had had great luck, taking in the last hour and a 

 half seventy-three bass. It was a glorious sight when 

 we arrived at home to see our fish laid out side by side, 

 the mascallonge at their head, and tapering regularly 

 down to a half-pound black bass. The latter do not 

 average any great size, rarely exceeding three pounds 

 and never known to be taken over six ; but a day upon 

 the St. Lawrence among those beautiful Thousand 

 Isles, either in pursuit of the mighty mascallonge, 

 the furious pickerel, or, best of all, the spirited black 

 bass, will never be regretted by the poet or the sports- 

 man. 



