Feb. 12, 1885.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



43 



right, naow raMy I don't. His name was Bijer Jarvis. Why, 

 some on ye knowed 'im; ho use ter run the sawmill up in the 

 Notch. He was a redheaded, cioss-grained, ill-natured 

 ereetur, 't would wrath er see folks in hot water 'n aout ou 't. 

 Good airth an 7 seas! 'f I baVt spoke in meetin', fer he was 

 Peltier's uncle! Peltier's mother was a Jarvis. But she 

 wa'u't to blame fer it,, 'n' I haint goin' lo spile a story for 

 relation's sake, bo vc need n't take no pride in what I say, 

 Peltier." 



"Houhl Qol darn Uncle Bige! Blast his ole picter!" ex- 

 claimed Pelatiah. "he never done nothin' for none o' aour 

 folks only cheat father aout 'n a yoke o' tew o' ole steers, so 

 I hearn 'em tell. Ye need n't spile no stories 'baout him on 

 my 'caount, Uncle Lisher." 



"Wal,." Lisha continued after this little interruption, 

 "Bijer was a runniu' the sawmill, an' one mornin' when he 

 was a goin' 'long the road through the woods to the mill he 

 seen a wild turnip an' pulled it, an' kerried it 'long, thin kin' 

 niebbe 't he'd dry it agin he had a cough in the fall, for some 

 sets gret store by wild turnips dried an' grated an' took in 

 'lasses for a hackin' cough. Curous, haint it, t when they're 



come along a boy a ushiu' of the name o' Morrison, an 

 stopped to see him saw. He was al'ays agawpm' mound, 

 loskin' at the contraptions an' askiu' questions, more 'n boy- 

 fashion, for he seem to be kinder studyin' inter 'em, 'n' they 

 said 't he made a reglar little sawmill complete, kerridge, 

 rag wheel an' all, an' sot it a rannin' in a brook clus ter his 

 folkses. It al'ays made Bijer Grosser 'n two sticks to see 

 him raouud, V he didn't take no notice on him till bunchy 

 he happened to thiuk of the turnip, 'n' he ast 'im 'f he liked 

 apples, V he said he did, for who ever see a boy 't didn't? 

 Then s' he, 'did ye ever eat any sweet graound apples? 

 Here's one o' the sweetest ever ye 'see,' handin' on 'im the 

 turnip; 'take a bite on it.' The boy took a good bite an' 

 chawed it kinder slow, lookin' at Bijer, but Bijer looked 

 tumble honest, V clever 's he ever could, so the boy didn't 

 thiuk nothin'. In tew three minutes it begin lo take holt.'u' 

 then he begin to sputter V spit V cry. an' holler "t his 

 rnaouth was full o' bumblebees an' hornets, 'n' Bijer settin' 

 there on the lawg goin' into fits a laugnin' at 'im, till the boy 

 cleared aout mos 1 crazy with the fire in his maouth, V 

 Bijer didn't see nothin on 'im agin for a month, till one day 

 he popped up ahind a pile o' boards a shakin' his fist at 

 'im an' hollered, 'You ole red headed heapl I'll pay ye 

 some time, see 'f I don't,' 'n scooted aout o' sight 

 'fore Bijer could fling an aidgin' at ! im. All this 

 while an' arter, things kep' gittin' aout o' kilter 

 'raound the mill; sticks in the wheel, bull- wheel rope wore 

 aout 'n' breakin', saw duller 'n a hoe, all kinder onaccaount- 

 ablc, no body knowed haow. Bime-by long late in the fall 

 when the pond froze over, Bijer was a fussin* 'raouud the 

 bulkhead one day, choppin' a lawg loose or suthin' nuther, 

 'n' bime-by he broke through an' went in kersouze! V he 

 couldn't ait aout, for the ice wouldn't hold an' the lawgs an' 

 bulkhead 'n' things was all ice so 's 't he couldn't keep no 

 holt on 'em, 'n' the water all the while a suckin' his laigs 

 int' the flume. Jest then he seen that 'ere boy come skatin' 

 'long the pond, 'n' he hollered for him to reach him a pole or 

 a board, but the boy kep' a skitterin' 'raouud a laughitr at 

 'im, an'' say-s he, 'Ole redhead, don't ye wish 't ye hed one o' 

 them sweet graound apples to warm ye up? Mus' be kinder 

 cool bathin' in there. I'd go 'n' dig ye one 't' 't wa'n't all 

 froze up.' Bijer begged an' cussed an' sploshed 'raound, an' 

 cussed an' begged, 'n last when he was mos' tuckered aout 

 he begiu to pray, 'n' then that 'ere imp of a boy hooked a 

 pike pole into his cut-collar an' hauled him on v the ice 'n' 

 snaked him ashore. He couldn't stan' 'n' the boy went arter 

 somebody 'n' they kerried ! im hum. He never got well agin 

 arter, nor able to walk. Some said 't was rheumatiz 'n' some 

 said 't was dyspepsy in the laigs— I do' know. One day the 



'I've brung ye suthin 't '11 do ye good. I've took lots o : 

 trouble to git it for ye.' 'N* he pulled an' al fired gret wild 

 turnip rut aout'n his pocket. 'Take a bite an' chaw It dawn , ' 

 say-s he, a shovin' on it under his nose ; 'take a bite, I've 

 owed ye one more'n a year. ' Bijer gin a kinder start, 'n' the 

 hind laigs of his cheer slipped V he come daown ker lurn- 

 mux! 'n hurt his head some way so 's 't be died in a week 

 or tew. TST that's what he got for feedin' boys wild turnips. " 



' 'Bah gosh ! Ah guess wen he begin to dead he'll sorry he 

 foolish dat boys, an't it?" 



"That boy," said Solon, "was vindictative." 



"I do' know as that was what they called it," said Lisha; 

 "seems though they said he was injinnew-ous, Any way he 

 went off, V they say 't he's what they call a injin-near on 

 one o' them 'ere steam railroads daown in Massachusetts 

 somewheres." 



"Dew you think, Sammywell," Solon asked, getting back 

 to the subject under consideration, "that the vocal voice of 

 a 'coon resemblances a screechaowl?" 



"Wal," Sam answered, "I do' know. Some says that a 

 'coon does make a noise sometimes 'at saounds suthin' like a 

 screechaowl, only kinder hoarser. I had a tame 'coon onct 

 for most a year, but I never hearn him dew anything but 

 graowl when he was mad, an' squall wheu he was hurt, jes' 

 you've hearn 'em when a dawg bed a holt on 'em. He was 

 the cunninest little cussl Inter all the mischief he could 

 think on, an' more tew. The chickins hed to suffer 

 when he got into the hen kaouse, evey time, V he'd raise 

 tunkit with everything he could git into in the haouse. When 

 he was eatin'he'd keep a sozzlin' his grub in his pan o' water 

 all the time. Uncle Lisher makes me think on 'im evey 

 time be sploshes his hither in his tub. Shouldn't wonder, 

 Uncle Lisher, 'f you turned into a 'coon yit." 



"Darn'd 'f I wouldn't like tew part o' the .year, Samwill. 

 Wouldn't it be cute to curl up when the col' weather come 

 on an' snooze till spring or a thaw come, an' not haf to bother 

 gittin' wood or grub?" 



"Ye'd want to take yer 'long pipe with ye, an' some ter- 

 backer an' matches in yer pocket when ye went inter a holler 

 tree— 't would be loiesome goin' without a smoke so long." 



"JNaow, does 'coons hev pockets?" asked the man who 

 never spoke but to ask a question. 



"Course they dew," Sam answered shortly; "inside 

 pockets, V I d' know but cut-tail pockets an' trowses 

 pockets. An' then agin, Uncle Lisher, when the' come a 

 thaw an' ye turned aout an' went traipsih raound an' some- 

 body tracked ye into another tree, haow 'd ye like to hev 'm 

 cudd aown the tree 'n' knock ye in the head?" 



" 'TwOUld be VOU. Samwill 'at fannnii mp nn'Vrm 1 



I'd ort to hev a smuk afore I turn into a 'coou." Whereupon 

 he cleaned the bowl of his pipe with an awl, ran a waxed end 

 through the stem, blow through it, and then shaving some 

 tobacco from a plug on his cutting board with a shoe knife, 

 was presently in the full enjoyment of what he called a 

 "ri'daown good smuk." 



"Ah bet too he a'n't£fregit when he be 'coon as' you, Sam, 

 haow you lak it you boot, an' when you tole 'im he too 

 tight he say 'he straysh!' Wen you tole 'im he too loose, he 

 say 'he shrimp!' Hein. One Lasha, you don't fregit dat, 

 a'h't it?" 



"Arrrh! You dum peasouperl" Lisha growled, like a 

 good-natured bear. 



" 'F you want fur," said Sam, "trackin' 'coons on the 

 snow 's all well 'nough, but it's mortal hard work wallerin' 

 iu the soft snow all clay. But 'f you want fun an' music, 

 take yer dawgs an' hunt 'em nights iu cornfields, an' when 

 they've ben shackin' under sweet acorn trees, an' sometimes 

 you Ml strike a track 'long a brook when they've ben a 

 froggirf. nev tew three good haoun's a hootiu' on a track 

 fer a good spell, an' then singin' halleluyer raound a tree! 

 That's what I call fun alive! Some druther hev a cur dawg, 

 'at won't bark till he trees, but gimme more music, 'f I've 

 got to hev less 'coons. 



"Wal," said Lisha, ramming his pipe with the handle of 

 his awl, "eveybody to their notion, 's the ole woman said 

 when she kissed her kyow, but I could n't never— sen 1 1 was 

 a boy— see no gret fun in stuniblin' raound in the dark V 

 fightin' skeeters half the night, for one or tew 'coons with 

 'baout as much hah on 'em's the' is on the back o' yer hand, 

 'n' like 's not, not git nary J coon arter all." 



"Why, Uncle Lisher, "said Sam Lovel, "is that ra'ly your 

 idee of 'the, fun o' huntin', jest to git suthin' that's wuth 

 money? Seems to me, if fur' an' meat 's all a feller 'a arter, 

 he aint goin' to git no gret comfort aout on 't." 



"Shaw, Samwill! you haint a goin' to ondertake to make 

 me b'licve 't you don't feel better a bringih hum a fox skin, 

 er a toon skin, er half a dozen patridges, V yc dew comin' 

 hum wi' nothin'? I know better 'n' that." 



Of course I like to git suthin' to show for a day's hunt, an' 

 it's comf'table to the feelin's to make a good shot, but 'f I 

 didn' tnever git nuthin' only what I c'n show. I sh'ld stay to 

 hum more 'n what I dew. if dollarsan' cents an' suthin t' eat 

 was all I was arter, I'd snare patridges 'n' trap foxes, an' you 

 never heard o' my doin' narv one." 



"Wal, then, Samwill, what on airth clew ye go for? Ye 

 hunt more 'n' 'most any body I know, an' ye git more 

 game." 



"I can't hardly tell, Uncle Lisher. It comes nat'ral for- 

 me to run in the woods. 'F I do git more game to show for 

 it 'n' some does, I git suthin besides 't I can't show. The 

 air o' the woods tastes good to me, for 't haint ben breathed 

 by nothiu' but wild creeturs, 's 'n ole feller said 'at useter git 

 up airly daown in Rho'd Islan' where my folks come from. 

 I luff ter breathe it 'fore common folks has. The smell o' 

 the woods smells good to me, dead leaves 'n' spruce boughs, 

 'n ! rotten wood, V it don't hurt in none if it's spiced up a 

 leetle bit with skunk an' mink an' weasel an' fox p'fum'ry. 

 An' I luffter see trees 'at 's older 'n any men, an' graound 't 

 wa'n't never plaowed 'er hoed a growin' nat'ral crops. 'N I 

 luffter hear the stillness of the woods, fer 't is stdl there. 

 Wind a sytbin, leaves a rustlin', brooks a runnin', birds a 

 singin', even a bluejay a squallin', haint noises. It takes 

 folks an' waggins an' horses an' cattle an' pigs an' sech to 

 make a noise. I git lots o' things a huntin' 't I can't show 

 ye nor tell ye 'baout, an' a feller that don't, don't git the best 

 o' huntin', 'cordin' to my idee." 



"I do' know but what ye've got 'baout the right on 't, 

 Samwill," said Lisha, after smoking slowly and gaziug for 

 some minutes out into the dark through his long window, 

 "I do' know but what ye hev, Samwill. Wal, boys. 'f ye 

 'r goin' arter 'coons termorrer ye'U want'er sleep some 

 fust." And he arose and took offkis apron. Presently the 

 wooden latch clicked behind the last departing guest. 



CAMP FLOTSAM. 



XrV. — "THE ELYSIUM OP PERENNIAL BASS." 



ON the day before the arrival of the new comers, we 

 started out, intending to make the lower outlet of 

 Loughborough and follow the stream to the falls, and after 

 carrying around these to the smooth water below, to work 

 over into Crow Lake, some twelve miles to the east. It was 

 a rather ambitious undertaking, for it was nearly eight miles 

 to the outlet, and in case night overtook us so far from our 

 base, we might not have an altogether pleasant time of it. 

 After discussing the expediency of taking a tent fly for shel- 

 ter against a night out, we determined to make no extra 

 preparation except in the way of lunch, and if belated, to 

 trust to making our way to camp in the dark. An extra 

 pair of oars were put in the boat, the provisions stored, and 

 we stood off to the north. A couple of miles from camp, 

 where the lake narrowed in toward an island, which loomed 

 up midway between the shores, the company separated, 

 Truthful James to take the eastern shore while we turned 

 off to cast along the western. This latter was thickly 

 wooded to the water's edge, and with an occasional log sub- 

 merged a foot or two below the surface or projecting that 

 distance above, suggested the presence of big-mouths, and 

 likewise warned us of the trouble which would probably 

 ensue should we get a strike from beneath such convenient 

 covers. It is one of the weaknesses of the angler that he can 

 never resist temptation when it presents itself in this shape. 

 We yielded to the enticements of the surroundings, and strip- 

 ping off a dozen feet of line, made a cast squarely alongside 

 a log which lay parallel with the shore with half its length 

 above the surface. We felt in our bones, while we were 

 making the forward cast, and before the flies touched the 

 water, that there was trouble on hand; and it came, came 

 with a tug and a dash under the log, and we were fastened 

 as firmly as though tied to one of the trees on shore Lower- 

 ing the tip to the water, we passed the line under the end of 

 the log, brought it to the opposite side, and tautened it with a 

 quick upward movement. This had the desired result ; there 

 was another rush, this time toward the shore, a turn, a dash 

 for the log, and we were fast again. The same tactics freed 

 the line once more, and we had an open water fight for a few 

 seconds just clear of the log, which ended in spite of our 

 efforts owing to the position of the boat, by another retreat 

 to the cover. This time the fish did not stop under the log, 

 but rushed three or four feet beyond, where it broke water, 

 and we were treated to the sight of a small-mouth as large as 

 any which we had yet taken. But it was our ouly view, for 

 as it left the water and tightened the leader, there was a snap, 

 and the leader parted just where it came in contact with the 

 log, and we felt the trouble in our bones no longer. We re- 

 paired the damage, and about fifty feet further on tried the 



same experiment with another log, and got out of the scrape 

 with the loss of the dropper. Our next experience was at a 

 log which stood nearly upright, and here we landed a villain- 

 ous pike, after he had sawed the gut of one of the flies until 

 it was just ready to part. Before we had gone fifty yards 

 further, we were minus another leader and flies; but not be- 

 fore we had seen the destroyer, a four-pounder, show him- 

 self in a grand quivering leap. After that we gave the logs 

 a wide berth, and half a mile further on found a somewhat 

 bold and rocky shore where the water was free from obstruc- 

 tions. Here, within a distance of two hundred feet, we 

 struck and landed five bass, which averaged two pounds 

 apiece. 



It Is perhaps needless to add anything to the discussion of 

 a subject which can now be regarded as fairly settled — the 

 superior fighting qualities of the small-mouth over the big- 

 mouth bass. We venture to assert that the few champions 

 of the latter have never found the small-mouth in the glory 

 of his perfection. We have fished in waters where their 

 lighting qualities were about evenly balanced, but in all 

 these the small-mouth was not up to the standard, and this 

 undoubtedly has been the case when a conclusion so favor- 

 able to the big-mouth has been reached. We can name 

 waters where eight out of every ten small-mouth bass will, 

 wheu hooked, break water, and this is a fair, if not a true 

 test of their gaminess. When the big-mouths adopt the 

 same tactics in like proportion, they may be put on the 

 same plane. This leads us to assert another fact sustained 

 by our experience, viz. : that the small-mouth is a more 

 vigorous fighter in waters where it is not a native; trans- 

 planting seems to infuse a new vigor and to add several 

 degrees to their gaminess. What says he of the Bigosh to 

 tliis? 



A couple of miles further on, Truthful James met us at 

 an island midway of the lake. He outnumbered us in his 

 catch by several, and had met with no mishaps like our 

 owu. Here we exchanged shores, and our oarsmen soon 

 put the width of the lake between us. By the time we had 

 added a half dozen to our score, the water began to grow 

 shallow, and we found ourselves over a muddy bottom. 

 Before we were within half a mile of the outlet the keel was 

 stirring up the black deposit. The last forty rods were 

 made with considerable labor, and we reached the stream 

 down which we expected to pass only to find that there 

 was not enough water iu it to float a canoe. We beached 

 our craft on a grassy bank, just at the entrance to the outlet, 

 saw our lunch and tackle on shore, and then stretched our- 

 selves undor a tree and awaited the coming of Sabattis. 

 When he arrived he was sent down the stream to examine 

 and report on the feasibility of further progress. He soon 

 returned with the information that to reach Crow Lake a 

 carry of a mile would be necessary, as the water was almost 

 entirely out of the stream. As no one man could carry 

 either of the boats, we abandoned the expedition right 

 there. It was now after twelve o'clock, and we started in 

 search of a place where we could spread our lunch and 

 enjoy a noonday hour. Directed by Sabattis, we followed 

 a trail for a quarter of a mile, crossed a little run, turned 

 short to the right, and a few rods beyond found a clear, 

 cold spring in the dense shade, with a large fallen tree hard 

 by on the bank above. Here George and Sabattis brought 

 our lunch and then left us to ourselves. 



The memory of that dreamy summer noon comes up to us 

 now, amid the wintry blasts, and we picture to ourselves the 

 ice-bound strea m, the ravine piled deep with snow and the 

 solitude and desolation of that pretty trvsting place, in the 

 middle of the Canadian winter. There "we lounared while 

 two long hours "sweat her sixty minutes to the death," and 

 our thoughts never once turned to where the waves of 

 human life were surging and dashing and beating themselves 

 into naught but empty bubbles and foam. Our isolation 

 was as complete as though we were in "the desert behind 

 Algiers," and when in response to our signal call, two dark- 

 hued forms came up the trail, representatives of world- 

 separated races, alien in sympathy and aspiration with our 

 Aryan blood, it only made wider the gap which opened be- 

 tween us and the century's civilization, a civilization in 

 which they had no part nor place. 



The expedition to Crow Lake being abandoned, we turned 

 our faces toward camp. On our way thither we took about 

 a dozen bass, none of them being remarkable for weight. 

 That night came the first warning that our summer camp 

 was drawing nigh its end. A letter had arrived which 

 sounded of the world, and summoned us to join once more 

 iu its toil. Such a summons had come to us in other years, 

 but never found us so unwilling to obey as now. While we 

 knew full well that the end would soon be at hand, it struck 

 our heart with a feeling not unlike that which used to come 

 with the sharp rap of the master on the door post of the old 

 school house on the hillside, when at the end of a glorious 

 noon spell he called us to unwilling tasks. 



When the lawyer and the editor arrived another tent was 

 added to the settlement on the bluff, and another boat to the 

 fleet on the beach. Their first day out was marked by the 

 capture of twenty-five small-mouths, and they were in 

 ecstacies over the fishing. On their second morning in camp, 

 while all were at breakfast, George announced that "Santi- 

 ago was a coming," and soon that worthy presented him- 

 self. He had come to tell us that he had just found a new 

 ground which was alive with bass. The editor left his 

 breakfast unfinished and, without waiting for the others, 

 rushed to his boat and was soon put in place by Sabattis who 

 then left him and returned to camp. Before the rest of the 

 party were ready to set out, a series of whoops broke the 

 quiet of the morning, coming across the bay from the direc- 

 tion of the fishing ground. From the bank below the tent 

 we could see the editor, a full mile away, and could assure 

 ourselves that he had not fallen overboard, but whether his 

 yells were the result of colic, cussedness or raw material, 

 we could not tell. It was, however, thought best to investi- 

 gate. 



As we pushed off from the shore the yells came with in- 

 creased volume across the water, and some one thought that 

 he heard a "hurrah" mixed in with the rest, It was sus- 

 pected just then that the lone fisherman, deprived of his 

 politics in camp, had taken advantage of the retired location 

 to give vent to the same, and that he was "whooping it ud" 

 for somebody. By the time we had passed over half the 

 distance we could see that he was standing; at tw r o-thirds of 

 the distance it looked as though he was engaged in a walk- 

 ing-match. The rumpus was meanwhile being well sus- 

 tained, and at ten rods we were able to grasp the situation. 

 The editor was bare-headed, his hat was hung on the bow of 

 the boat, his rod was bent half double and he was playing 

 circus with some kind of a fish which he was taking at "a 

 forty gait" around the boat, in an elliptical-shaped course, 

 between the foci of which— the bow and the stern— he was 



