446 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



| May 26, 1894, 



any body who knewjanything about the subject. He was 

 fond of a good joke and was capable of telling one with'a 

 detail that covered the whole ground. " 



Such were the four comrades who gave to Robin Nest 

 Camp its days and nights of unalloyed pleasure, and to- 

 day invests it with the sweetest of memories. 



Afterward we were joined by Mr. Sheidemantle and his 

 son Johnnie, from Cincinnati, who contributed much to 

 our camp enjoyments. , . 



Our dining tent was spread under the shade of thick- 

 foliaged trees. Everybody was free to join the varied 

 discussions that attended the consumption of viands. The 

 "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" could have learned 

 lessons by hanging himself on the back of a chair. True, 

 the talk was mixed, involving the wisdom of the 

 ancients— Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, Diogenes, Virgil, 

 Horace— with the classics — botany, zoology, hygiene, 

 fishing, philosophy, history, snakes, adventure, butter 

 and eggs, mosquitoes, wisdom and wit, good, bad and 

 indifferent. Nobody asserted anything dogmatically, for 

 fear some reckless galoot would deny his statement and 

 call on the other listeners to prove its falsity. If the dog- 

 matist persisted, he would be so attacked that at length 

 he was willing to escape with his life. 



There was an ancient feud existing between Sheide- 

 mantle, or "Shidecker," as we called him for short, and 

 Culbertson— not mortal but persistent, so that the air was 

 forever full of darts flying from one to 'tother, and now 

 and then was heard the popping of small arms or the boom 

 of artillery in the wordy warfare. In the wear and tear 

 of fish life, the rear of Shidecker's trousers had grown 

 seedy and been reduplicated with a patch taken from a 

 rubber horse blanket. To attack this armor-clad portion 

 of the anatomy with a convenient board, when words 

 failed of effect, was Culbertson's final coup demain. "A 

 fellow who parts his hair in the middle is a dude," said he, 

 "and a dude has no rights anybody is bound to respect." 

 Shidecker explained that the hair grew that way ever 

 since he was a boy, and he must respect nature; and as to 

 the gum patch, that was placed in position to keep him 

 from taking cold when sitting down on a pickerel slyly 

 placed under him by his enemy. Culbertson said "he 

 could not bear to have a D.D. (Shidecker was professor-in 

 the public schools) poking around camp, hunting the best 

 places in the shade to read Capt. Kidd's adventures, or 

 standing around the kitchen talking French to the cook." 



Shidecker replied — "those insinuations were bare-faced 

 fish lies;" that "Clay had jaundice of the stomach, was 

 barely able to get to his meals, but once there, danger 

 lurked in the atmosphere." 



The disposition of Shidecker to deal in puns was some- 

 thing horrible. When one more than usually hideous 

 was let go without wings, even Kelpie groaned in spirit, 

 and rising to his feet, in a voice full of calm resignation, 

 would remark, "Isn't it about time for some of us to go 

 a -fishing?" You could see the danger line was nearby 

 Kelpie'B raising his head, the yawp of his mottled straw 

 bat, and his vacant look into the sky above. 



But if there was any one thing that could restore 

 Kelpie's equanimity, bring a smile to his face and a roseate 

 hue to his cheek, it was' "raspberries." He always looked 

 at them with a oomfortin' glance of sweet satisfaction, 

 and his speedy method of concealing them, from pulpy 

 skin to inner seeds, was Herrmannian in skill. Returning 

 to camp after luckless trips for trout oi> bass, weary and 

 dispirited, no sooner did his eyes rest on a fresh bucket of 

 raspberries than a beatific expression as of hope realized 

 stole over his face, 



Culbertson's strong point was pork and potatoes — a 

 Chicagoist pride with an Irish instinct. He could toll the 

 difference between an "'alf and 'alf" side meat from a 

 Bingham woodsranger and the thick, juicy "all in all" of 

 a Chicago fat porker, the moment his fork broke the 

 outer rind. Shidecker's delight was flap-jacks flanked 

 with treacle, while Furr and "Kingfisher" yearned for 

 everything and anything that "went to the place" and 

 pacified the pangs of hunger. 



Queer fellows, those Kingfishers, full of fun and frolic, 

 one moment annihilating each other with withering sar- 

 casms and slashing similes; the next uniting to crush 

 some offending member as a crowd of girls would pounce 

 on a diminutive snake. But let some incautious outsider 

 send a shaft within their ranks, and every soul was on 

 his feet to resent the assault, until ofttimes the intruder 

 was res^dy to wish he had never been born. 



After some days of camping and fishing our frog sup- 

 ply began to be invaded by death. Hunger was suspected 

 as the moving cause, though food was kept in their cage. 

 A council of war was held, to devise ways and means to 

 preserve their lives. Culbertson suggested they be fed on 

 red flannel; Furr wanted to have doughnuts baked for 

 them; "Kingfisher" proposed fly tarts; Kelpie thought 

 grasshopper pudding more to their liking, when Shidecker 

 invaded the friendly conference by suggesting they be 

 fed on some of Culbertson's jokes, maliciously adding, 

 "but they won't live till morning." Here the irrepressible 

 Johnnie interposed, "No, no; let pa dose 'em on the seat 

 of his pants. They could chaw and chaw on the gum 

 patch and fill up as it swelled — sorter come and go like." 

 "Johnnie!" said Shidecker, in his sternest way, "don't 

 ou remember Peck had a bad boy?" This knocked 

 ohnnie Out, for he had a horror of being considered bad, 

 and his pa knew this weakness and invariably took ad- 

 vantage of it, regardless of the difference in ages. 



The council of war broke up without relief to the frogs, 

 owing, no doubt to the side issues injected into the con- 

 ference. 



The beat bass fishing ground was near camp, toward 

 Bingham, and marked by two crossed pine trees on shore. 

 It was here that "Kingfisher," one day, struck and 

 fastened to what he asserted was a 51b. bass. He was 

 fishing alone. On his return to camp he described the 

 struggle, the moments of anxiety and hope, how the line 

 had burned his fingers as it ran from the reel, and how at 

 last the fish had broken away, leaving him dejected. 

 Culbertson was incredulous about the size of the fish, 

 saying in an undertone, "Oh, yes, big ones always » e t 

 away," and after that he rigidly held to the doctrine that 

 no fish could be a 5-pounder unless the line burned the 

 fingers. I shall not soon forget, days afterward, when 

 "Kingfisher" returned from a twoj,days' trip to the Foun>- 

 tain House, at the narrows of the lake, and was recitin°- 

 how he had again struck a big bass, a 5-pounder at least 

 —the look of unspeakable indignation he gave Culbertson 

 when the latter propounded the question— "did the line 

 burn your fingers?" 



During a trip round Alexander's Point, on another oc- 



casion, "Kingfisher" located another big fish— anJ18m. 

 speckled or brook trout. He and the writer had agreed 

 to investigate a small stream that put into the lake from 

 the woods, and from which, a year or two before, we had 

 taken a few trout. To avoid a swamp ground near the 

 lake, and guard against a fire that was burning the woods, 

 we made a short detour, after landing, and reached the 

 brook near a small road-bridge. Baiting our hooks with 

 worms, the first cast secured each a small trout of lawful 

 length. Several smaller ones were taken and thrown 

 back. Moving higher up, "Kingfisher" dropped his line 

 over a grassy bank and in less than two minutes had three 

 or four trout of lOin. and less flopping on the grass. 

 Changing his position and screening himself behind some 

 bushes, he allowed his bait to float toward a dark hole 

 under the bank. There was a jerk, a splash in the water, 

 and an empty hook came back. 



"Great airth and seas!" he exclaimed. "Did you see 

 him, Sammy? Oh, he was a whopppr; not an inch less 

 than 18in.," and he proceeded to measure on his arm the 

 requisite length, and to detail how the trout had deftly 

 stole toward the bait as it floated his way, nosed it 

 cautiously, turned back, came up again, hesitated as if 

 suspecting treachery, then gently took the Kentucky 

 hackle in his mouth and moved toward his nest. 



"I jerked a second too soon." said "Kingfisher," "he 

 was too sharp, one of those old mossbacks that suspect 

 danger in every blade o' grass, and was just holding the 

 worm between his lips to see what would happen. It did 

 happen, but not to that old cuss; but I'll get him yet," 

 and he explained how he would get a good fat minnow, 

 an inch or so long, and let him swallow and keep it till it 

 was ready to digest and then snatch him bald-headed. 

 For the present he would give him a rest. 



When we returned to camp, as usual, Culbertson was 

 sarcastic in doubts as to the reputed length of the big 

 trout, and "Kingfisher" as earnest in sticking to thel8in., 

 but in his anxiety to show a full measure he pointed on 

 his arm a length of at least 2ft., causing a laugh to go 



round the circle of listeners. Two subsequent trips were 

 necessary before "Kingfisher" captured his prey. As he 

 beached his boat, the day of his success, and announced 

 the capture of the big trout, there was a hollowness in his 

 voice that did not indicate an adequate amount of exulta- 

 tion. Bringing the trout before the group under the 

 shade of the trees, the tape line was laid alongside and 

 the measure showed just 13in. "Golly a' mighty, how 

 that fish am shrunk," we remarked, quoting the remark 

 of the old Kentucky negro whose big catfish had been 

 swapped for a small one while he lay sleeping in the sun. 

 It was a singular faet that during the remainder of camp 

 "Kingfisher" never struck, saw, nor would talk about any 

 big fish — that is, when more than one person was present. 

 How many of us honestly over-estimate fish that have 

 never been out of the water? And it is no sin to do it, 

 either, for a "fish lie," properly stuck to, without change 

 of countenance or quiver of the lips, is more meritorious 

 and commands more respect and commands more respect 

 than the pitiful statement of the inexperienced Izaak 

 Walton, who underestimates his catch. One can be and 

 is forgiven — even before its perpetration — while for the 

 other there is no salvation in any well ordered fish camp, 

 The day "Kingfisher" caught his 13in. trout, Furr and I 

 went on a tour along the north shore of the lake, in search 

 of small-mouth black bass. Our supply of minnows we 

 caught among the rushes off Alexander's Point. Coasting 

 along the shore, which was low and marshy, we fished off 

 Catfish Point, throwing in toward the land. In a short 

 time we hooked and landed several good-sized rock bass, 

 a fish for which we had no hankering, especially since we 

 had been shown previously a small grub that in summer 

 infests its back. Black bass not showing up, we recrossed 

 to the south side and followed in the track of Kelpie and 

 • 'Kingfisher," who were going a-trouting. Here Furr had a 

 ran, and the bend of his split-bamboo when he struck in- 

 dicated sport ahead. Playing his fish warily and giving 

 no slack line, it was soon exhausted and brought to net— 

 a 21b. large-mouthed black bass. A shade of disappoint- 

 ment hovered over Furr's face as he saw it was a small- 

 mouth, although its poor fight had somewhat toned down 

 his expectations. Four or five other big-mouths of nearly 

 the same size were caught in a short time, when we rowed 

 off for better game. A quarter of a mile further down I 

 had a bite thatbetokened business. After taking the bait, 

 the fish moved round in a circle, giving me trouble to* 

 keep the line taut without prematurely alarming it before 

 striking. Time enough elapsing, I lowered the point of 

 the rod, tightened the line, and with a sharp stroke sent 

 the barbed hook home. Then there wa8 fun. The small- 

 mouth bass, as it proved to be, made at once for some 

 moss beds that lay under water 60ft. a.way. It was neces- 

 sary to stop him, and his mad rush was quickly set against 

 the resisting power of the elastic steel rod Curved into 

 almost a circle and nodding to each repeated dash of the 

 bass, while I gave him a slight increase of line with thumb 



acting^as rubber at each frantic forward movement, the 

 rod finally proved victor, and the bass changed direction 

 and darted toward the middle of the lake. Singular 

 enough he had not yet showed up above water, nor did 

 he at any time make his appearance till exhausted and 

 ready for the net. Headed in every dash by the pliant 

 tension of the rod and in his attempt to go under the boat, 

 he finally yielded and we netted a three-pounder. 



At this time our attention was attracted by a forest fire 

 in the woods on shore. The smoke rolled upward in dense 

 volumes and the roaring and crackling of the flames were 

 ominous of destruction. A carpet of leaves on the ground 

 furnished a basis for the spread of the flames, aided by 

 the thick underbrush, and they steadily crept from tree 

 to tree, scorching and devouring with their fiery breath. 

 At intervals, a tree rich in green foliage overtopped its 

 fellows along the line of devastation. The destruction 

 of these we watched, as we lay on our oars. As the hot 

 breath of the flames would near them, the leaves would 

 begin to curl and crisp, and suddenly a red tongue would 

 shoot up among them, and in an instant the entire tree 

 was an immense column of fire, I had always supposed 

 a forest fire moved with rapid steps, but in this case the 

 progress was slow, steady and in irregular line. The air 

 along the lake had been for some time a dead calm, when 

 suddenly a diminutive cyclone, caused by the fire, came 

 sweeping down on us, tossing the boat wildly about and 

 giving us trouble to control its movements. The flurry 

 of wind ceased as quickly as it came. 



Having added two more small-mouth bass to our score, 

 we returned to camp, gathering some beautiful white and 

 yellow water lilies en route, with a lot of bulbs not yet 

 opened. These last, "Kingfisher" said would open if 

 placed in a bowl of water. We did so, and set them on 

 the dining table; but alas, for human credulity, they ob- 

 stinately refused to show their pretty faces. It was only 

 another "fish-lie." 



Our camp comrades expressing a desire for a mess of 

 trout, "Kingfisher" and I boarded the "iron-clad," as we 

 termed the low sided black-hulled canvas boat, and started 

 for a stream back of Alexander's Point. I had never 

 doted on canvas boats; and the low sneaking movement 

 of the "iron-clad" as it went snaking over the waves 

 made my flesh crawl. I had a belief that the black water- 

 proofing that gave it so deadly a color rotted the canvas, 

 yet "Kingfisher" swore by its safe sea- qualities, and I 

 believe if he had been asked by the Osgood makers he 

 would have given them a blue-ribbon letter of credit. In 

 fact, when I was in the quarters where these boats were 

 shown at the World's Fair, I suspected by the stealthy 

 way one of the Osgood representatives held his hand be- 

 hind his back, when I "commended" the "iron-clad," 

 that it clasped a characteristic and gushing missive from 

 "Kingfisher." 



As if to indorse my views, when we approached the 

 shore near our trout stream with snail-like movement for 

 fear of a snag, the water began to rush in through the 

 bottom, disclosing a vent several inches long. We would 

 doubtless have had to swim ashore or drown but for the 

 fortunate fact that the water there was only three inches 

 deep. A small projecting point of bark had gently gone 

 through the bottom without due notice to us, and for all 

 the purposes of our return to camp we were in a condi- 

 tion of shipwreck. Yet "Kingfisher," with a courage that 

 was undaunted, insisted the same thing Would have hap- 

 pened to any canvas boat, even if its bottom was triple- 

 plated and 'secret-nailed. I reserved further comments 

 till our return to camp, where I would have proper sup- 

 port. 



Caolrng our provisions in some bushes, we followed the 

 trout rlream through several open lots, and in half an 

 hour had put in our basket nearly a dozen nice trout. 

 With hiB usual agility, "Kingfisher" had forged ahead, 

 and I was trying to decoy a trout that I had seen dart 

 under some roots, when I was startled by loud talking, 

 and glancing up saw "Kingfisher" engaged in a conversa- 

 tion with a ferocious-looking bull. They stood about 

 twenty paces apart, and my comrade was saying some- 

 thing to the bull to which he evidently didn't agree, for 

 he would lower and shake his head and paw the earth, as 

 if to emphasize his dissent. I suspected "Kingfisher" was 

 trying to stuff him with one of his biggest "fish lies." 

 Finding his statements were having no effect on the bull, 

 he changed his tactics, and began an oration full of loud 

 declamation and gestures, accentuated by the flourish of 

 his fish rod. I judged this was a ruse to gain time, as 

 now and then he glanced appealingly toward the fence, 

 about 40yds. away. The bull was evidently getting tired 

 of the poor stuff to which he was listening, and began to 

 bellow and flourish his tail. The interview was so comi- 

 cal, I abandoned my trout and lay down on the ground 

 to watch its developments and where I could laugh 

 easier. 



In a moment "Kingfisher" attempted an insidious 

 movement to the rear, toward the fence, but so slight it 

 seemed but a feature of his oratorical gestures. "No, you 

 don't!" exclaimed the bull in pantomime as he gave 

 another head shake, and stepped forward double the dis- 

 tance covered by the orator. His eyes assumed a fiery 

 hue, and again pawing the earth he gave vent to a 

 ferocious bellow that shook the ground. "Kingfisher" 

 redoubled his efforts till his hat fell off, his hair became 

 electrified, and his utterance would have shamed a Com- 

 munist speaker on celebration day. The crisis was deep- 

 ening. 



"Time's up!" pantomimed the bull, and with a roar he 

 started. To say that "Kingfisher" bravely met the foe 

 would be deceptive. He had courage, but he was not 

 rash. He wasn't ready to die. When the bull started, he 

 started— the other way. I had supposed that he would 

 have used his fish-rod as the matador his lance and 

 stabbed the bull to the heart, and got his name in the 

 papers. His flight was inglorious. Between him and 

 safety lay the brook, several piles of brush and a worm 

 fence. I have but a faint memory of that flight. There 

 was something whizzing through the air, a coat-tail 

 horizontal, a sheen of legs like the maze of spokes from 

 Zimmerman's bicycle when winning a race. At intervals 

 the incongruous form would bound high in the air as it 

 encountered the brook and brush. How it got over the 

 fence I don't know, only I am sure it didn't touch the top 

 rail. 



The bull was a good second. But just as "Kingfisher" 

 landed over the fence the bull attempted to make a run- 

 ning pick-up on his horn of some sod — probably to throw 

 at the escaped orator. His horn ran under a root, and so 

 great was his impetus he turned a complete summersault, 



J 



