A LEAF FROM THE LOG OF THE ROSAMOND. 



CHAS. VAN BRUNT, JR. 



All the long September afternoon the 

 white yacht had swung idly at anchor, 

 coquetting with the ebb tide and the South 

 w.nd. On board all was quiet. Leaning 

 against the rail of the companion way sat 

 the skipper, reading. Tall, stalwart, and 

 grey whiskered, he looked a typical old- 

 time yacht captain. Scattered about the 

 waist outside the cocksprit was a varied 

 collection of rods, reels, lines and nets, 

 proclaiming the mission of the craft. On 

 top of the cabin lay a man asleep. When 

 the sun was nearing the horizon he sat 

 up, and leaning over, called down the com- 

 panion way: 



"Say, below ! If you fellows expect to 

 catch a bass at the turn of the tide, it's 

 time you were moving." 



"All right," and with the reply 3 men 

 came tumbling up and began a hurried 

 examination of reels and lines. 



After a time the lines were entangled 

 and wound snug, bait was put into the 

 boats and we swung away from the yacht. 

 Billy in a boat with the captain's son, who 

 had joined the party from the forepeak, 

 -started across the flats for a point where 

 bass were supposed to be anxiously await- 

 ing them. 



The Doctor, who was the commodore of 

 the club, and who could always "tell a bass 

 bite from that of any other living thing," 

 the civil engineer and I made up the party. 

 Hugging the flats, to avoid the sweep of 

 the tide which went racing toward the 

 inlet, we pulled briskly. Billy and John 

 soon came to grief on the flats. Where 

 they expected to find 10 inches of water, 

 there was only 3, and we could see them, 

 hard aground and half a mile from the 

 desired point, holding a council of war. 

 But we could not tarry; time was pre- 

 cious, and our own troubles were begin- 

 ning. We 1 ad reached the place where 

 we were to turn off from the channel to 

 go over the flats into a thoroughfare where 

 we expected to fish. 



Did you ever try to push a boat over the 

 flats in a tideway? A bay man will stand 

 in his boat and push her along almost as 

 fast as you can row, and he seems to need 

 only a heavy dew to float him anywhere 

 he pleases. But just take that oar yourself 

 and see what happens ; before you have 

 gone a rod the sand bumps against the 

 bottom of your boat, and the chances are 

 you will have to get out, take the tow 

 line over your shoulder and drag the skiff 

 with her bottom grating over perriwinkle 

 and clam shells the full length of the flat. 



By dint of pushing and pulling, we were 

 soon over and quietly rowing through the 

 thoroughfare ; avoiding the deep places, 

 and handling the oars as quietly as pos- 

 sible. You can not catch a striped bass 

 by making a lot of noise ; he always has his 

 weather eye and ear open. Arriving at 

 the farther end of the thoroughfare where 

 it opened into the bay, the doctor and the 

 engineer were placed on one point and I 

 rowed to the other, a distance of about 

 75 feet. Fastening the boat along the edge 

 so she could not swing, and getting rod, 

 reel and line in order, a box of cut bait 

 close at hand, and bull's eye lantern lighted 

 and stowed away under the seat, I lit my 

 pipe and sat down to await events. 



The tide was still running ebb, the wind 

 had died down and across the 'fore the 

 forms of my companions were silhouetted 

 against the evening sky. A mud hen came 

 out of that somewhere that birds alone 

 know and ran along a little fringe of 

 muddy sedge just beyond the stern of the 

 boat. Two meadow wrens perched on the 

 swaying sedge not 5 feet from me, and 

 sang before they flew away into the shad- 

 ows that were lengthening over land and 

 sea. The sun had disappeared beneath a 

 sunset cloud that for a moment covered 

 land, and sea, and sky with crimson glory, 

 and tinged the crests of the breakers off 

 the inlet, as with the blood of hapless sea- 

 men. The night came on, and still the ebb 

 tide ran. Out of the South came revolving 

 flashes from the light house, and in the 

 West hung Venus, like a golden lamp. 

 Over the sand dunes came the moon of 

 the great gray sea, with occasional whiffs 

 of its seaweed and brine. 



Suddenly there was a different pulse in 

 the air, and a whispering all through the 

 sedge and the rushes. Did you ever hear 

 it when the tide turned? The ebb will run 

 on, and on, and there does not seem to be 

 a living thing in all the great waters, until 

 there comes a something you can almost 

 feel, a presence in and around ; there is a 

 different sound in the lap of the tide, and 

 the water grows tremulant with the motion 

 of myriads of living things. Not 10 feet 

 away a school of mullet breaks in a foam- 

 ing rush and gleams for a moment in the 

 phosphorent tide.. 



A low whistle came across the water 

 from my companions and I knew they 

 were alert. Now for work, for our fishing 

 must be done within 30 minutes. I put on 

 a fresh bait and cast across the tide. 

 There ! Oh, pshaw ! only a nibbler ! Well, 



18s 



