Terms, Five Dollars a Year. | 

 Ten Cents a Copy. j 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 1873. 



I Volume I, Number 2. 

 103 Fulton Street. 



V 



From Appletoa'8 Journal. 



THE DRUM FISH. 

 • ♦ 



IN the Chesapeake and her tribute streams, 

 Where broadening out to the bay they come, 

 And the great fresh waters meet the brine, 

 There dwells a fish that is called the Drum — 

 A fish of wonderful beauty — and force, 

 That bites like a steel trap and pulls like a horse. 



He is heavy of girth at the dorsal fin, 



But tapering downward keen and thin ; 



Long as a salmon, if not so stout, 



And springy and swift'as a mountain trout; 



For, often at night, in a sportive mood, 



He comes to the brim of the moonlit flood, 



And tosses a glitering curve aloft, 



Like the silver bow of the gods — then soft 



He plashes deliciously back in the spray, 



And tremulous circles go spreading away. 



Down by the marge of the York's broad stream, 

 An old darky lived, of the ancient regime. 

 His laugh was loud, though his lot was low; 

 He loved his old master, and hated his hoe. 

 Small and meagre was this Old Ned, 

 For many long winters had frosted his head 



And bated his force and vigor; 

 But, though his wool all white had become, 

 And his face wrinkled up like a'wash-woman's thumb, 

 And his back was bent, he was thought by some 



A remarkably hale old nigger. 

 But he suffered, he said, from a steady attack 

 Of misery in "de head and pain in de back," 

 Till his old master gave him "his time to hisself," 

 And the toil-worn old bondsman was laid on the shelf. 



Happy old Edward! his labor was done, 

 With nothing to do but sit in the sun, 

 And free to follow] his darling wish 

 Of playing.the fiddle and catching his fish. 

 He had earned his play-time with labor long, 

 And so like the other Old Ned in song, 

 He "laid down the shovel and the hoe," 

 And caught up the fiddle and the bow. 



Now, I cannot say 



That his style of play 

 Would suit the'salons of the present day; 

 For the tours de force of the great Paganini 

 Have never found favor in " Old Virginny." 

 He never played a tune that "went slow," 

 For he perfectly scorned an adagio; 

 But, with eyes half closed and a time-beating toe, 

 His elbow squared, and his resinous bow 

 Not going up high nor going down low, 

 But sawing quite steadily just in the middle, 



He played by the rule 



Of the strictest school 

 Of the old-fashioned, plantation nigger fiddle. 



It happened Old Ned went fishing one day, 



And out on the blue, 



In his dug-out canoe, 

 He carried his fiddle along to play. 

 Long he fished with his nicest art; 

 There came not a nibble to gladden his heart; 

 So he tied his line to his ankle tight, 

 To be ready to haul if a fish should bite, 

 And seized his fiddle. So sweet did he play 

 That the waves leaped up in a laugh of spray, 

 And dimpled and sparkled as if to move 

 To invisible water nymphs dancing above, 

 But slower and slower he drew the bow, 

 And soft grew the music, soft and low; 

 The lids fell wearily over the eyes; 

 The bow-string stopped, and the melodies; 

 The last strain melted along the deep, 

 And, Ned, the old fisherman, sunk to sleep. 



Just then, a huge drum, sent thither by fate, 

 Caught a passing gleam of the tempting bait. 

 And darted upon it with greedy maw, 

 And ran the hook in his upper jaw. 

 One terrible jerk of wrath and dread 

 From the wounded fish, as away he sped 



With a strength by rage made double, 

 And into the water went Old Ned- 

 No time for any " last words " to be said, 

 For the waves settled placidly over his head, 



And his last remark was & bubble. 



Let us veil the struggle beneath the brine 



Of the darting fish and tanglingline. 

 The battle, of course, was a short one, since 

 Old Ned not gifted with gills or fins, 

 And down in the deep, was as much out of place 

 As a mermaid would be in a trotting-race; 

 And motionless soon at the bottom he lay, 

 As mute as the fiddle that floated away. 



They were washed ashore by the heaving tide, 



And the fishermen found them side by side, 



In a common death, and together bound 



In the line that circled them round and round- 

 So looped and tangled together 



That their fate was involved in the dark mystery 



Of which was the catcher and which the catchee; 



For the fish was hooked hard and fast by the gill, 



And the darky was lassoed around the heel, 

 And each had died by the other. 



And the fishermen thought it could never be known, 

 After all their thinking and figuring 



Whether the nigger a-fishing had gone, 

 Or the fish had gone a-niggering! 



Innes Randolph. 



AjSTTICOSTI. 



THE JOURNAL OF A NAVAL OFFICER. 



[Continued from our Last Issue.} 



DAYLIGHT found us becalmed, and drifting west with 

 the current. The only consolation we could get ou 

 of the captain being rather depressing than otherwise, he 

 having been once three weeks in making the same passage. 

 In the forenoon a shoal of porpoises working up the gulf in 

 long succession, and a shoal of whales sporting on the tran- 

 quil surface of the sea, reminded one of the oft-mentioned 

 sea-serpent. Our rifles were called into requisition, but 

 apparently our shots fell harmless, till Flanigan, rather put 

 out at our skill, begged the loan of a gun. Kneeling down 

 he waited till a "hammer head" (easily distinguished by 

 the length of time they remain under water and their heavy 

 spout on coming to the surface) appeared, when, taking long 

 and deliberate aim, he pulled trigger. Unfortunately, he 

 had forgotten one most important element to success — the 

 rifle was at half-cock, and before he could rectify his mis 

 take the whale had gone down. We laughed heartily at his 

 discomfort, and his vanity was not a little hurt. "Och ! 

 what a pity," said he, "shure, thin, I had him intirely cov- 

 ered." Soon after he got a shot, and as the ball struck the 

 water, certainly in close proximity to a whale, he jumped 

 up in a frantic state of excitement. "Begorra, I hit him in 

 the tail ; faith, thin, L gave him a pill he won't stomach 

 aisily," and other expressions passed his lips, and his one 

 idea was that we should lower the canoe and at once give 

 chase. Whether Flanigan's shot did perhaps graze the 

 caudal extremity of one of these leviathans must forever 

 remain undecided ; but, be that as it may, it was the last 

 we saw of them, and to this day F. firmly believes that he 

 "bagged" a whale. 



About twelve o'clock a breeze sprung up, and grew steadier 

 and stronger, and as it struck the schooner, and the sails, 

 which so long had flapped idly from side to side, first barely 

 drew, and then gradually filling, caused the vessel to heel 

 over, we experienced a feeling of relief it is difficult to de- 

 scribe. Before dusk we were bowling along at a rate of five 

 or six knots, which, after our long inactivity, seemed mar- 

 vellous, and we turned in for the night in the full expecta- 

 tion of finding ourselves next morning in sight of the West 

 Point Lighthouse. The truth of the old saying, "Llwwme 

 propose, mats Dieu dispose''' was again apparent, for in going 

 on deck soon after daybreak I found that we were envel- 

 oped in a dense fog, while a thick drizzling rain had taken 

 the place of the wind. It was ten o'clock before the mist 

 began to liH, and a light air springing up an hour later, the 

 tower of the lighthouse, which showed like a thin white 

 line cutting the fog in twain, gladdened our eyes. 



Under the now rapidly freshening breeze we soon closed 

 with the land. The lighthouse stands on a low wooded 



point. Close by is the cottage of the keeper, while what 

 seemed to be a number of small fishing huts dotted the 

 beach. The wind was blowing dead ashore, and a heavy 

 surf, which made it no easy matter for boats to effect a 

 landing, was rolling in, so the captain proposed running in 

 for English Bay, a few miles to the northward. About 

 half past three we found ourselves at anchor in a snug little 

 bay, well sheltered by a projecting headland from the north, 

 and, though apparently exposed to the full force of the 

 south and southwest winds, so protected by a line of reefs 

 which run three-quarters of a mile in a westerly direction 

 that vessels may lie there in perfect safety in almost any 

 kind of weather. The bay presented quite a busy scene ; 

 two schooners lay at anchor, while between us and the 

 shore were some fifty large boats, some empty, while from 

 others just returned from the day's fishing outside the fish- 

 ermen were pitching the cod with large two-pronged forks 

 into small flat-bottomed scows ready to go ashore. After 

 paying $25 for our passage we said "good-bye" to the 

 packet, and as we neared the land our olfactory senses were 

 assailed by a "horrible and fish-like odor," the cause of 

 which we soon ascertained. Cod in every stage of the cur- 

 ing process lined the beach, some spread on long "flakes" of 

 spruce and pine for drying, others already dried packed in 

 stacks containing forty or fifty quintals apiece, whilst men 

 and even women, with arms bared and with huge knives, 

 were decapitating and cleaning those fish just landed from 

 the boats. The smell from all these was by no means pleas- 

 ant, but by far the choicest perfume ascended from large 

 barrels of liver that lay decomposing in the sun. Were 

 some of the advocates of cod liver oil to see the loathsome 

 and stinking mass from which it is obtained we much fear 

 the sight would forever cure them for any predilection 

 for it. 



While here it may not be uninteresting to briefly allude 

 to the fishing carried on during the summer and autumn 

 months. From a return made, embodied in the "Annual 

 Report of the Marine and Fisheries Department" to the 

 Dominion Parliament, it appears that during 1869 the yield 

 and value of the fish taken is shown as follows : — 830 cwt. 

 cod, 830 cwt. ling, 450 barrels herring, 34 barrels halibut ; 

 value, $8,160. The oil made during the same period was 

 worth $580. The most profitable fishing establishment is, 

 however, at Fox Bay (the scene of the wreck of the ill- 

 fated "Granieus"), on the northeast side of the island. 

 Quoting from the same return we find that the yield was 

 1,375 cwt. cod, 1,375 cwt. ling, 1,000 barrels herring, and 65 

 barrels halibut ; of oil we have 530 gallons cod, 530 gallons 

 porpoise, and 250 gallons seal. This represents $15,108. 

 My visit was three years later, when the number of hands 

 was very much greater. The men are principally inhabi- 

 tants of Douglastown — fine stalwart fellows, who, by their 

 ruddy cheeks, bear testimony to the healthy nature of their 

 occupation. 



As cod generally "strike" early along this coast they 

 usually come over in May, returning to the main land 

 towards the end of August, though two families,, induced 

 by the comfort they had experienced, and the profitable re- 

 turns of the soil, spent the last winter in the bay, and do 

 not seem to regret it. From its proximity to an open sea 

 the winters are not so severe as those felt higher up the gulf , 

 and we were repeatedly told by trappers and others, who 

 from a long residence could speak with authority, that they 

 found the cold greater at Quebec, and so far as actual tem- 

 perature was concerned they infinitely preferred wintering 

 in the island. 



Dense woods of spruce and pine stretch down to meet 

 the waters of the bay on every side, save where in the cen- 

 tre the jungle has been partially cleared away and given 

 place to the log "cabins" of the fishermen. The soil from 

 here to Ellis Bay, a distance of twelve miles, is light, in 

 many places a stratum of gravelly limestone being found 

 only a few inches beneath the surface. Several of the more 

 enterprising families have, however, cleared small tracts of 

 forest in the rear of their homes, and the neatly -fenced plots 

 in which the potatoes were now nearly fit for digging 

 augured well for the success of the little colony. 



