Oct. 26, 1895.J 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



863 



"Taxes," he rejoined, "not- a bit of it. In the auld 

 country the crofters pay the landlord £1 the acre, an' he 

 finds the parson, the doctor and the schoolmaster. But 

 here we pays nigh £1 the acre an' finds the parson, the 

 doctor an' schoolmaster ourselves." 



I gave him up as an incorrigible. 



In a ruBtic lane, defined by two winding, straggling 

 lines of fence formed by driving fir poles into the ground 

 side by side, I one day met a perfect specimen of the Cape 

 Breton fisherman. His face under his black tarpaulin 

 was round, ruddy and tanned, and he was clad in the reg- 

 ulation costume of his class— brown jumper or blouse, 

 homespun pants, and heavy sea boots, oiied till they glis- 

 tened. We met in the middle of the street and were soon 

 talking like old comrades. I found that he was much 

 prouder of his beats as a pilot than as a fisherman. 



"I piloted in the Pouyer-quertier, the steamer that laid 

 the French Atlantic cable," he began, "anchored her in 

 McLean's Cove yon, an' they got the cable ashore in three 

 hours. Then I told the Cap'n he must cut an' run, fer a 



A LONG ISLAND fcTRlPiCD BASS. 



See page 3Gh. 



big storm was brewin'. We made a good offin' before it 

 hit us, but the Pouyer-quertier danced aroun' all night 

 like a cork. Soon after sun- up the Cap'n comes to me, 

 an' says he, 'Mon Dieu, pilot, can't ye make some harbor 

 an' out of this.' 'Cap'n,' says I, 'at noon this gale '11 drop 

 as sudden as it cum, an' I'll put ye in a harbor the like of 

 whidh ye never see in yer born days.' Sure enough it did. 

 an' I anchored him afore sunset in Louisbourg Harbor, off 

 Old Town, where the frigates lie in eight fathoms. 'By 

 gar, pilot,' says he, 'you're a man of your word; here's sea 

 . room. I shall sleep to-night.' " 



The old fellow went his way and I mine— to Alex. Mc- 

 Lean's Cove, where the French cable was landed. It is a 

 romantic spot, under the lee of a huge cliff, with deep 

 water off shore, so that the Pouyer-quertier was able to 

 come close in and land the American end of the cable 

 without difficulty. Now a fish house occupies the spot, 

 and the buoys of a salmon net float where the Pouyer- 

 quertier lay. After a year or two, for some reason un- 

 known to the fishermen, the line was removed to Canso, 

 on the mainland of Nova Scotia — probably to avoid cross- 

 ing the Straits of Canso by a second cable. 



Near by I met a character in the person of an old 

 Scotchman, a dissenter to the backbone, a democrat, a 

 Eed, a constitutional kicker at the powers that be. He 

 came from Scotland sixty years ago at the age of 12, he 

 told me, and had never ceased to bewail his native coun- 

 try, and berate his adopted one. 



"Aye, dinna I wish I were back yon," he said. "An' 

 perhaps I will lay me old bones there yet. A laborin' 

 man can't get a livin' here honestly. There's too many 

 thieves an' robbers in office. Aye, I know. I've tried it 

 sixty years on sea and land: fisherman, boat builder, net 

 maker, carpenter, logger, farmer, shoemaker — every- 

 thing but mining undergroun'. An' I'm poor as a spring 

 herrin' to-day The Cable Company put me in care taker, 

 and I thought I had a sure thing for my old days. But 

 they sent some thieves of Englishmen here to work the 

 tickers, an' they drew my pay along with theirs, but 

 never handed it over to me, the blackguards. Then the 

 cable went off to Canso, an' I lost my place, an' never a 

 penny to show for my year's work." 



"And have you never been paid?" I asked. 



"Not a groat," he replied. 



One day in a chasm of the cliffs, where ifc had been 

 thrown by the waves, I found a water beaker with a rude 

 flagstaff thrust through the bung and also through and 

 beyond the other side. A flag had been tied on the longer 

 end, and as there had been a heavy swell on for three 

 days, caused, the men said, by a great storm at sea, I 

 reasoned that there might have been a wreck, and that 

 this beaker thrown overboard with a flag to attract atten- 

 tion might contain a message from the sea; so, throwing 

 it on my shoulder, I carried it to the village, where on a 

 certain sunny bank (it being 3 P. M. and the catch for 

 the day being brought in, dressed, salted and packed) I 

 knew I should find the fishermen smoking and telling sto- 

 ries. "What is it?" I asked, throwing it down before them. 



"A trawl buoy," they replied in toneB of deep commis- 

 eration for my ignorance. 



I gave it to Sandy McPherson, and in return he invited 

 me to go out with him to the lifting of the nets — a con- 

 cession I appreciated because the men dislike having a 

 landsman in the boats; he is apt to get seasick and muss 

 things up so. 



At 3 A. M. we were down at Sandy's fish house on the 

 ragged water front. The dawn was just breaking, mak- 



ing a glory in the east, cutting the dark foliage of the 

 spruce forests in intaglio, sifting in among masts and 

 spars, jutting piers and weatherbeaten shops and fish 

 houses of the water front. Sandy and his partner, Aleck 

 O'Rourke, were busy stowing nets, rope, a beaker of 

 water and one of cider into the little dory alongside, 

 which was to convey them to the Sally Maria, then pull- 

 ing at her cable a stone's throw in the harbor. 



They tried to dissuade us from going. The sky had a 

 dirty look and there was a "lumpy" sea outside, they 

 said. But we told of our many voyages with never a 

 thought of seasickness, and they subsided. Soon we are 

 in the Sally Maria and under way, preceded and followed 

 by a fleet of graceful, purple-sailed craft, all making for 

 the narrow harbor entrance between frowning headlands. 



The fishing boats of Cape Breton differ from any I have 

 ever seen. They are undecked two-masters of about five 

 tons burden, carrying schooner-rigged sails — jib, foresail 

 and mainsail. The hull is divided into three compart- 

 ments—one amidships filled with cobblestone ballast, one 

 in the stern, and one forward for the fish, nets, etc. The 

 men call them "whalers," some say, because of their size as 

 compared to some dories; others, because they possess some 

 of the characteristics of a whale boat. They are admirable 

 sea craft, and in the hands of such consummate seamen 

 as these men are rarely meet with disaster. Although 

 they sail eight or ten miles out on a stormy coast abound- 

 ing in dangerous reefs and currents, but one instance was 

 related to us of a fishing boat having been lost. The 

 Sally Maria flies out to sea like a yacht, O'Rourke at the 

 helm, with Sandy in the foresheets, boat hook beside him. 



"Reed's out," remarks the former, with a look behind. 

 "McDonald too," he added a moment later. 



"They'll all be follerin' soon like a flock o' mosquitoes," 

 says Sandy, with a chuckle at his own wit. 



Very soon the Sally made the bar and began climbing 

 the long swells of the open Atlantic. They were very 

 heavy to-day, liquid mountains, pellucid, pea green, their 

 silent movement rendering them the more majestic. But 

 when they met the mighty cliff on our right what impact, 

 what thundering and leaping of foaming masses. In the 

 trough we saw only blank walls, in the crest we looked 

 out on one of the most irregular, rocky and dangerous 

 coasts in the world, ribbed with fang-like reefs and 

 ledges, foaming and smoking far out to sea. 



"Do you often have such a sea on in summer?'' we 

 asked. "Never in my day; must a had a big gale up the 

 gulf." 



"Outer float net first, sir?" asked Sandy a half hour 

 later, the Sally being then five miles to sea. 



"Aye, aye, sir," responded O'Rourke in the slow, not un- 

 musical tones of his guild. 



The men have ten nets out, we learn, set in a line by 

 compass from some prominent object on shore, that they 

 may readily find them in a fog— the normal weather con- 

 dition here in May and June. Three are "sunk" nets, the 

 rest "float" nets; the former denoted by a white buoy, the 

 latter by one unpainted. 



"What is a 'sunk net?' " the reader is no doubt ready to 

 ask. To explain will require a brief dissertation on the 

 Cape Breton net. That almost universally used here is 

 the "gill net," i. e., one with meshes sufficiently large to 

 allow a marketable herring or mackerel to pass through 

 beyond the gills, but nqt large enough to admit the pas- 

 sage of the whole body, so that the fish is caught by the 

 gills and held there. The nets are from twenty-five to 

 thirty fathoms long and about three fathoms deep. On a 

 "float" net the upper rope, called the "swing line," is 

 thickly studded with oblong pieces of cork which keep it 

 on the surface, while the lower or "mooring" line, being 

 weighted with lead, sinks, and the net is held upright in 

 the water. The trap is not yet complete, however; it must 

 be anchored to the bottom and must be indicated so that 

 it can readily be found. To anchor it the fishermen use 

 an ingenious contrivance called a "killick," and peculiar 

 to the coast, I think. The young spruce sends up a circle 

 branches from the root. They cut it off below these, and 

 the branches also about 3ft. above, and drawing the latter 

 together at the tips form a cradle in which a stone of from 

 300 to 400ibs. weight is placed. This is sunken on the 

 bottom and one end of the swing liae fastened to it, the 

 net being thus left free to swing with wind or tide. The 

 mackerel feeds on a minute fish called by the fishermen 

 "britt" or "bait," the herring on a small shell- fish called 

 sea shrimp, in appearance like a tiny crab. The schools 

 coursing along in pursuit of prey dash into the nets and 

 becoming entangled in the meshes are held. In early 

 summer, as it happens, their food is found near the surface, 

 and to capture them the float net is used, Later it is near 

 the bottom, and then the sunk net is brought into play. 

 To change the floating net to the sunken the fishermen 

 simply remove the corks on the swing line until enough 

 only are left to hold it upright in the water, and then add 

 weight enough to the mooring line to sink it to the bot- 

 tom or near it. The nets are indicated by wooden buoys 

 tied to the swing line. 



Meantime the Colleen has run several miles out to sea. 



"There she is," says Sandy, who stands at the bow ready 

 to lower sail. "There's the outer float net, sir," and as the 

 Colleen luffs, down came foresail and jib, the mainsail 

 alone being left standing. Sandy catches the buoy with 

 his boat hook, and O'Rourke leaving the helm to itself 

 comes forward to help lift the net; one takes the swing 

 line, one the mooring line; slowly the black meshes rise, 

 now there is a silver gleam far down in the depths and a 

 mackerel breaks the surface with his sharp cutwater, 

 forked tail, and generally rakish air, a pirate of the seas. 

 Another follows and that is all. The men heave a little 

 sigh of disappointment and return the net to the water. 



All this time the Colleen had been wallowing in the 

 trough of the sea and the landsman felt an increasing 

 uneasiness. Instinctively he moved to the gunwale and 

 leaned over the side, where the deadly smell of bilge water 

 and stale fish was less powerful. 



"Feel sick, sir?" asked Sandy with an air of great con- 

 cern; he had been asking it ever since we reached rough 

 water. 



"A little nausea from that vile bilge water," we replied. 

 The next moment there was a paroxysm and all was over. 

 It was the worst case of mal de mer ever developed. We 

 heard a slight chuckle from Sandy, and looking up caught 

 him in the act of darting a wink at O'Rourke, whoBe 

 broad countenance about expanding in a grin suddenly 

 changed to the impassiveness of a stoic's. The men were 

 very kind in their way, letting the sufferer down easy. 



"I heard McLean was sick out here yesterday, an' he's 

 been going to sea these forty year," said Sandy. 



"Faith, I was a little dizzy myself then," added 

 O'Rourke, and he offered to pass the cider keg. 



"Don't worry about me, my good fellows," said the 

 landsman, "I'm not complaining. Go on with the lifting." 



The second, third, fourth and fifth nets had very few, 

 but in the sixth and seventh what a draught of fishes. 



"Here's a mess," cried Sandy exultingly as we came up 

 to the buoy. "Mackerel too, an' a barrel, or I'm a liar," 

 They proved to be herring mostly, mackerel being woe- 

 fully scarce this season. The net was fairly loaded with 

 them. The men coiled fish and net together in a heap 

 'neath the bowsprit until the net was in, then uncoiled 

 the pile, throwing the fish into the compartment and 

 allowing the net to pay out into the sea. 



The seventh was just as fruitful, and by the time the 

 tenth was raised the men estimated there were three 

 barrels, chiefly herring, in the compartments. 



After the nets comes the line fishing for cod and had- 

 dock. The shoals where these fish feed are near by— they 

 are marked on the fishermen's charts and by objects 

 fixed on shore; the Sally is anchored over them, and the 

 great cod hookB baited with "grill" (entrails of the her- 

 ring) are thrown overboard. For some time they are 

 not disturbed. 



"Time was," growls Sandy, "when a cod would bite 

 most anything, but he's grown so delicate now grill '11 

 hardly tempt him." With the last word he gives a jerk, 

 begins to haul in hand over hand, and soon lands a fine 

 cod of some 201bs. weight. Line fishing has been very 

 poor this season, however, and after an hour's trial the 

 men up anchor, hoist sail and the Sally flies over, the 

 water at a pace that in an hour puts her alongside the 

 fish house dock. There the fish are thrown on the wharf, 

 dressed, washed and packed away in huge hogsheads, 

 tiers of which are ranged around the sides of the room. 



Charles Burr Todd. 



Potomac Notes. 



Washington, Oct. 19.— On the beginning of the present 

 week Mr. Otterback caught a bass in the Potomac, near 

 the Anglers' Club house, of 51bs. 7oz. He ought-er (Otter) 

 be de boss fisherman. We have been informed confiden- 

 tially that a small catfish was the successful bait, and 

 now every member of the club is out running down small 

 catties. 



Mr. H. C. Coburn, the well-known merchant-angler, 

 was out on Monday last and took five good bass, and 

 again on Thursday, when he took four. On or about Oct. 

 5 Dr. Glazebrook and E. E. Whiting carried their angling 

 outfits to the Great Falls by bicycles and had a fair day's 

 sport, The temperature of the water having dropped, the 

 bass are to be found in deep water. 



Messrs. Frank Curtis and J. W. Wellborn spent the 

 first week of October at Edwards Ferry and took about 

 one hundred bass, averaging l^lbs. each. The largest fish 

 weighed 3Albs. down weight. Minnows of various kinds, 

 catfish, crawfish and helgramites were used as bait. Fly- 

 fishing, usually very good, was not accessible owing to 

 the low stage of the water. 



£ Edward's Ferry is a very desirable place for angling, 

 being as it is so far removed from railroads. The nearest 

 station is six or seven miles away, another ten miles, and 



, CANANDAIBUA'S UNIQUE MENU. 



one other about eleven miles distant, making it quite im- 

 possible for the crowds of Sunday anglers to reach the 

 place and get back to the city in time for work Monday 

 morning. 



Mr. E. E. Jarboe is the Poobah of Edward's Ferry ,being 

 farmer, storekeeper, postmaster, ferryman, news and ex- 

 press agent, as well as agent for fertilizers, etc., etc. The 

 farm contains between three and four hundred acres, and 

 this in connection with the store enables Mr. Jarboe to 

 relieve or cater to the wants of the inner man of his 

 numerous guests. 



Among the anglers at present raiding Mr. Jarboe's 

 larder, or contemplating such a raid, are: Messrs. Billy 

 Stith, Chas. S. Wheeler, C. C. Stouffer, E. N. Reid, C. P. 

 Mays, Dr. T. B. Hood and M. L, A. Brandebury. If this 

 strong combination does not get out of bait there won't 

 be many bass around Edward's Ferry to go into winter 

 quarters this season. 



The Potomac is so low that the condition of things is 

 singular. Anglers with whom we have conversed think 

 that as the water above the Monocacy is so low and dis- 

 colored the bass are driven down stream and that there is 



