A NIGHT ON THE SENECA. 



Capt. H. P. Bigelow. 



Lou and I were boys together, and 

 as the town in which we lived lay 

 on the banks of one of the most 

 beautiful rivers in the world, we both 

 naturally became fond of the water, and 

 in due time, had, what we called the 

 " steamboat fever." We determined to 

 own a steamboat. Our parents, though 

 well to do, were not affected by this 

 disease and our first boat was not an 

 " Atalanta," nor even a " Gentleman's 

 Launch." It was simply an old yawl 

 to which we fitted an awning and a 

 second-hand boiler and engine. In 

 this odd craft we were happy for two 

 seasons, at the end of which we were 

 able to buy a small launch, which 

 though she had seen her best days, was 

 more trim and stylish looking than our 

 " steam yawl." 



Two years later we sold our launch 

 and laid the keel for a yacht, a real 50 

 foot yacht. By this time we had inter- 

 ested the "governors " enough so that 

 they came reluctantly to our relief, and 

 although it was late in the season be- 

 fore the yacht was completed, she was 

 one of which we could justly feel proud. 

 She was built from selected stock by 

 the best builder in our vicinity, who, 

 before he laid her keel, made trips to 

 the various yacht basins in the country, 

 where a great many " crack" boats 

 were hauled out for the winter. He 

 studied their lines and build, and came 

 home with many new ideas in construc- 

 tion, which he carried out in the build- 

 ing of our boat. 



She was a pretty sight to us as we 

 watched her growth upon the " ways " ; 

 long, graceful and slender, with sharp 

 bow and tapering stern. Her machinery 

 was also of the most perfect type, with 

 a complete condensing system which we 

 had put in to do away with all noise, 

 and to keep the grease from her white 

 decks. 



Her trial trip was more than satis- 

 factory. Fifteen miles was an easy 

 gait for her. She had but one rival. 

 That was the "Undine." She had been 

 a private yacht and a fast one, in her 

 day, but she was now owned and run 



by a townsman of ours as an excursion 

 boat, or for charter; and though we had 

 never yet had a fair chance at her, we 

 knew she would give us a good pull, 

 when the time did come. And now for 

 my story. 



An adjoining town boasted of a sport- 

 men's club, organied for the purpose of 

 enforcing the fish and game laws of the 

 state, which they did by employing a 

 special game constable to constantly 

 patrol the river. His name was John- 

 son, and he was large, burly and dis- 

 agreeable. With the objects of this club, 

 we were in hearty sympathy, but with 

 this man we were not. He was un- 

 popular in our region, for he would 

 arrest every poor farmer whom he 

 caught spearing a few fish for his break- 

 fast, while he did not molest the several 

 " fish pirates " on the river who gained 

 their livelihood by "legal " fishing. 



As we had a chance to see all this, 

 we made a protest to the club against 

 this man, which naturally enough bred 

 an ill-feeling between us. He did not 

 lose his position however, and to use 

 his own words, he was " laying for us," 

 with the hope that he might at some 

 lime detect us in violating some of the 

 fish laws, when he would, " warm things 

 up a bit for us." 



Now, we were also fond of camp life, 

 and in a shady grove, about 10 miles 

 above town, we had built a substantial 

 camp house, which was well stocked 

 and equipped with all the necessities of 

 camp, and to these we had added some 

 luxuries, one of which was a tennis 

 court. 



We had let the camp to a party of 

 young ladies who, with a proper chaper- 

 one, had established themselves there 

 for an outing of two weeks. One beauti- 

 ful afternoon I received an invitation, 

 by a special messenger, to spend the 

 evening at the camp. The writer of the 

 message was one of the party in whom 

 I took an unusual interest — not so very 

 unusual either, for this same feeling 

 has been the theme for many a story, 

 song and play. I will describe her — 

 but, no, this is a steamboat story and 1 



