22 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
fJOLY 11, 1896. 
IT MIGHT ,HAVE BEEN. 
Old Job), the guide, with steady stroke, 
Bows out beyond the fringe of reeds, 
Across the channel green and deep, 
Between the reef and piok'rel weeds. 
The dimpled waters gleam and flash 
With brightest gold and darkest green, 
Catching the light of evening clouds 
la tender rose and silver sheen. 
The birds are singing in the pines. 
Far off I hear the calling loon; 
With easy hand the rod I hold, 
AndTeel the throbbing of the spoon. 
A sudden strike, a savage tug. 
And out there leaps with miehty lunge^ 
All green and white, with fins of gold, 
The king of flsh— a muskallonge. 
Then comes the test of rod and line. 
And all the angler ''s craft and skill, 
As back and forth, with sweep and swirl, 
The desperate captive has his will. 
Now rushing ofiE with sudden speed, 
He makes the good reel scream with glee, 
Or fiercely shakes his mighty jaws 
In vain to get the tackle free. 
At last he wearies of the flght, 
And slowly turns his flashing aides, 
While, guided by the short'ning line, 
Beside the boat he meekly glides. 
The gaff is near bis milk-white throat, 
A moment more and he is ours; 
When down he goes beneath the boat— 
"The line has parted, by the powers 1" 
* * ♦ * 
The sun has set, the sky is gray, 
The evening wind blows sad and raw; 
1 only know that I have lost 
The biggest flsh 1 ever saw. Henbv J. Sawk. 
LABRADOR SKETCHES. 
IV.— Dead Man's Bay. 
[Translated by Crawford Lindsay for the Fobest and Stream from 
the manuscript of Count H. ae Puyjalon.J 
If ever you come to Labrador and sail along its coast, 
do not on any account go into Daad Man's Bay on a Fri- 
day night. It is a very long, very narrow and very som- 
ber bay, surrounded on all sides by high, dark, beetling 
cliffs of surprising aspect. 
The sun's rays barely penetrate into it and the shades 
of night are darker and more impenetrable there than 
anywhere else. 
The most extraordinary feature of this rather small bay 
is the great depth of water. Bottom cannot be found 
with sixty fathoms of line at the foot of the rocks. 
These liquid masses of limited area and prodigious depth', 
nearly always of the very darkest hue, always give me a 
feeling of undefinable fear and curiosity. They inspire 
me with uncanny ideas when necessity compels me to 
pass over them; I cannot help looking behind to see 
whether there is not some gigantic saurian— 3ome last 
living remnant of days gone by — ^swimming in my wake, 
and I experience quite a relief when I get again into the 
sea and observe once more its bright and ever-changing 
waves. 
It is in this bay that the ghost of a poor devil of a fish- 
erman, drowned there many years ago, roams about on 
Friday nights. He was returning from his station with a 
companion, both considerably intoxicated. When thev 
reached the bay the fisherman stumbled and fell over- 
board. 
"Throw me a ropel" he cried to his mate, but as the 
latter was about to do so the tmfortunate man suddenly 
disappeared, although he had shown no sign of exhaus- 
tion, and had not uttered a single cry of distress. Noth- 
ing was ever seen of him. Completely sobered by fright 
the companion made his way home and told the sad news 
to the disconsolate widow and sorrowing friends. 
From the time of this tragic ending, all who venture to 
cross the bay on a Friday night hear the drowning man's 
cry: "Throw m3 a ropel" and some even aflarm that they 
havB seeri his shadow floating erect under water. 
It was in 18— I was obliged to return because my man 
Thomas found that we had got much too far away from 
the Riviere aux Canards, where I had taken him, and one 
night we came to the entrance of Daad Man's Bay, Not 
knowing that it was haunted, we pulled in and shortly 
before dark had put up our tent on a rock near the shore 
on which we had hauled up our boat. 
After a hearty supper of cold salmon we lay down to 
sleep without the slightest anxiety. The boat, tent and 
provisions were all safe above the reach of the highest 
tides, and there seemed to be nothing litely to disturb our 
slumber, well earned by a long pull against the wind. I 
was sleeping soundly, as I always do, when I was suddenly 
awakened by a terrible yell and my man threw himself 
on me, saying: "MonJDieu! What is it, sir? Save me! 
save me!" 
I pushed him away angrily and called out: "What 
have you seen, you infernal idiot?" 
"I don't know, sir." 
"Neither do I, stupid." 
I was angry, but tne poor fellow looked so pale and flur- 
ried that I could not help laughing at him. 
"Don't insult me, su-," he said, "I don't know what I 
saw, but what I did see " 
"Well, what was it?" 
"It was a man. A man all in white walking under 
water " 
"You saw him? Through the sail cloth «f the tent?" 
"1 suppose so, sir," 
"Nonsense, you ate too much cold salmon and have had 
the nightmare, that is all." 
"Perhaps so, sir, but it is strange all the same," and he 
shook his head, 
I glared my contempt at him, and settling in my 
blankets I fell asleep and was not disturbed again. 
The sun was already high above the horizon when I 
woke up the next morning. Thomas, reassured no doubt 
by the sunlight, was out of the tent. I went out also and 
saw him some distance away contemplating an object 
which I could not distinguish. He beckoned to me to 
join him, and I climbed over to where he was with the 
aid of plants growing in the crevices of the rocks. 
On a rather wide ledge and resting against the mossy 
side of the cliff was an abandoned fishing boat. Such a 
boat weighs at least half a ton. Who could have con- 
ceived the idea of carrying a craft of that weight and 
build to that spot, 25Et. above the highest tides, and what 
could have been the object? 
After reflecting some time I gave up trying to solve 
the problem, and we prepared to start. An hour after- 
ward we had quitted the bay where poor Thomas had 
been so frightened. 
At noon we landed on an islet covered with gulls. 
The richly tinted rocks had attracted my curiosity, and 
while we were eating our lunch Thomas said: "I saw 
it, sir! I saw it! I thought it was a white porpoise, but I 
soon made out its eyes. Oh, what eyes!" 
"But you were asleep?" 
"Perhaps so; but I saw it all the same." 
"You dream't that you did?" 
Thomas respectfully shrugged his shoulders and did not 
say another word. At sunset we landed near a fishing 
station where we were to pass the night, and as usual the 
fishermen came to visit us in our tent and asked the usual 
questions as to whence we had come and where we were 
going: 
■ "You have come from Dead Man's Bay, Did you pass 
the night there?" 
"Certainly," I replied. 
"And you heard nothing; you saw nothing?" 
"No." 
"And yet yesterday was Friday?" 
"Yes. But what boat is that on a ledge so high above 
the water mark on the shore of the bay?" 
"That is Johnny's boat." 
"Johnny's boat," I exclaimed. Seeing that I was quite 
mystified and could make nothing of it, the fisherman 
explained the matter to me. In the first place he told me 
the story I have related above as to the origin of the name 
of the bay and then he related the following story : 
About three years before, Johnny, who used to indulge 
in an occasional spree, was sailing home in his boat from 
some place down the coast. He was very drunk, but the 
weather was fine, the sea was calm, and he sang at the 
top of his voice, for he was always jovial in his cups. 
When he reached Daad Man's Bay he suddenly heard a 
voice call out, "Throw me a rope, Johnny." He paid no 
heed, The voice repeated the request, but he sang on. 
At the third supplication Johnny got impatient, sprang 
up with a curse, and seizing the slack of the halyards he 
threw it out, saying, "Catch hold, you drunken lubber, 
since you have been singing out so long for it." 
At the same moment his boat was caught up and carried 
to. the rocky ledge where we had seen the wreck, and 
Johnny, although sobered by the fright, had all the trouble 
in the world to recover his senses and make his way to his 
home, which he reached two days after. 
I listened very quietly to this yarn, and when it was 
finished I raised my eyes, which met those of my man 
Thomas. They so eloquently expressed terror, triumph 
and contempt all mingled together that I could not help 
laughing, to the great disgust of the naan who had spun 
the yarn. 
"You don't believe it, sir?" he said. 
"Oh, yes," I hastened to answer. "I am laughing at 
Thomas. He took your dead man for a white porpoise. 
Isn't he stupid?" 
Thomas was indignant. 
"Well, sir," he said, "I am not very clever, but I am not 
a gentleman. What I see, I see." 
After that, what could I say? I held my tongue. 
H. DE PUYJALON. 
BEES. 
SHASTA Mountains, Ca\.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
I feel considerably stuck up. That phrase is not to be 
taken as slang, and I am sure I have seen too much of 
the world to feel as though I was anybody in particular. 
I have merely been "cuttin' a bee tree" and getting some 
wild honey and some of the things that go with it. 
I have noted from time to time what you and your con- 
tributors have been giving us about bee hunting— the last 
article I remember being in your number of Feb. 1, and 
signed by Hermit. I would like to have his full name, 
also his photograph, so when I meet him I will be sure 
that I have got him. I am a hermit myself, but I never 
monkeyed with a bee tree until to-day, and I followed 
some of Hermit's directions. 
Hermit writes a very graphic and pleasing epistle. No 
doubt he told all he knew about bees, and something 
more — but there is a quantity of wisdom and knowledge 
that is evasive. I am quite positive just at present that 
Hermit let some of it get away. He may know some- 
thing about some bees, but if he will call around in this 
vicinity and chop down a bees' nest he will get some 
points. 
You see it was this way. I've been hankerin' after 
honey. I wanted to get some myself, and besides I 
wanted a few bees to help fix up my ranch with. For- 
est AND Stream talked about bees and honey, and when 
they commenced coming to my garden this spring I com- 
menced to pike around after 'em. I fixed up some bait 
and got 'em to coming to it all right and then I watched 
them. 
I got several courses. In fact, as near as I could tell, 
every one of them had a course of his own. Once in a 
while one of them would go up the creek, so I went up 
the creek. After chasing them for two or three days I 
had coursed them about SOOyds. Then they began to go 
wild. Most of them would fill up on my bait, make two 
or three false motions, then zigzag around a few times, 
shoot up toward the sky, and neither I nor my dog 
could tell where in thunder they made for. Finally I 
left my bait out and there came a big rain and destroyed 
it, then I quit for awhile. I was not completely discour- 
aged, but i thought I was losing my interest in bees. 
One day a man came by my shack. I don't see a man 
very often in this vicinity, so I had a talk with him. 
After a chat he said: 
"Wal, how is it ye never cut that bee tree up thar?" 
"Well," I replied diplomatically, "it's most too far, 
and in a kind of a bad place to get at." 
"Fur," said he; "why, it ain't more'n a quarter, and 
right alongside of the creek and the road. Couldn't be 
in a better place. 
"Oh, you mean that dead white oak near the cross- 
ing?" 
"Naw, I mean the big black oak, with the top broke, 
near where some feller has been makin' cedar posts." 
"Oh," said I, in a sneaking kind of a tone, "I've calcu- 
lated to cut that tree, but I thought I had better wait 
and give the bees a chance to get some honey." I added 
conscientiously, to myself, "besides, I'll be blasted if I 
knew that tree had bees in it." 
"Wal," said the man, "I'd cut it now and save the 
bees; they'd have time to fix up for winter. They're 
workin' strong now." 
Then my visitoi: commenced telling bee yams. As 
soon as he left I went up to see the tree. Sure enough, 
they were there, "b'ilin' out of it by handfuls," about 
30ft. from the ground. The tree was just out of my road 
up the creek, and I had passed it about 1,100 times. 
Then this man, passing it for the first time, had seen the 
bees at once. Such is Uf e. 
It was a large tree, about 3£t. in diameter, and I 
thought it was sound at the base. It looked like a big 
contract for me to cut it down alone and I waited two or 
three weeks for some one to come along who would like 
to take a hand. Finally a party of surveyors came 
along. I asked them if they would like some honey. 
Oh, yes, they would. Then I told them about how by 
cutting the tree we could get some. Well, they rather 
guessed they didn't have time — besides, they didn't un- 
derstand cutting bee trees nohow. 
I then worked three days and made two first-class bee 
gums, with two compartments and numbers of frames, 
air-holes, etc. I still look with pride, on what I consider 
a neat job. 
When I had finished the gums I couldn't wait any 
longer. I wanted honey bad — having been entirely out 
of it for several years— and besides I wanted to see those 
bees in my new hives, working for me on the ranch. 
I got all the things together that I expected to need, 
took my axe and a bee gum and went up to see the bees. 
I reached their front yard about 4 o'clock in the after- 
noon. I could see from the ground that they were open 
to business. It was one of the warmest days we have 
had this yea,r, and I think bees are lively on warm days. 
I figured on the tree and thought I could chop it down 
in an hour and a half, and I wanted to monkey with the 
bees about sundown, I thought it would be pleasanter in 
the cool of the evening. The tree was in the shade of 
some tall pines, and I went to work. I chopped out a 
good sized chip and listened. I didn't hear anything 
buzz or whiz, so I kept on. The bees acted very civilly 
— they were so high up in the world they simply ignored 
people on the ground. But they didn't know I was go- 
ing to take 'em down a little. The tree was hollow to the 
ground, and when I had blocked out one side I saw I had 
time enough. ^ 
I rested awhile. I sort of like to rest while chopping, 
which is a good deal like labor. I never labor without 
resting whenever I have a good, square chance. But the 
mosquitoes were so bad I thought I might as well chop, 
and before I expected it I cut through into the hollow so 
far that the tree began to crack, then it squeaked, tot- 
tered and fell with a crash — an hour ahead of time. There 
was a granite boulder 30£t. from the tree. The bees seemed 
to be doing business in the honey line about 30£t. up. I 
calculated to drop them on the boulder, which would open 
up their works in all probability without further use of 
the axe. The tree fell on the boulder and burst like a 
pumpkin. The entire domicile of the bees was opened 
up to the public, which was, at this place, two dogs and 
myself. 1 sneaked up a few feet to see how things looked 
before I put on my prepared armor, which I had near by. 
I didn't get a very good view. I came away too soon. 
The air all at once seemed to be one solid whiz, and was 
so full of bees that my dogs gathered a lot of them with- 
out trying, and went off as though they wanted to get 
away from there. Oae of the dogs was a small, short- 
haired dog, and very black. When he left I could see he 
was full of little yellow spots that looked like spangles. 
They were bees, and they clung to him as though they 
had never had a dog before. The dog acted as though 
he had never had bees behind before. 
I secured my armor and prepared for action. I had 
only a small piece of mosquito bar which I fastened to 
my straw hat, letting it festoon my face, I drew on a 
hickory overshirt (wearing it like a bushwhacker, outside 
of my pante), then I tied a string around my ankles, one 
around my waist and a handkerchief around my neck; 
finally I drew over my hands two pairs of cotton socks 
for gaimtlets, and I was ready. 
I approached the bees gradually. I got in among them 
and they couldn't do a thing to me. But didn't they try 
it though! I never was the center of so much attention 
in my life, and I had no notion till then how much rack- 
et a few million bees can make. I peered into their 
works in the tree, now spread wide open. I never saw 
such a combination of honeycomb and mad bees. 
I then got my hive, buckets and pans, and went to 
work. Just about this time the sun came out from be- 
hind a tree and shone as though it had concentrated all 
its rays to focus on my operations. The bees got madder 
and crazier. One of the dogs had come back as near as 
he dared, and as luck would have it he flushed a skunk 
so close by that the animal pervaded all the atmos- 
phere that was not full of bees. I got entangled in 
grapevines and thought I could hear a rattlesnake, but 
the bees made such a whiz I could only giiess at it. I 
grabbed all the honeycomb I could see through my veil, 
put it in the buckets and had everything full and more 
left. My gauntlets became loose and a lew bees got into 
them, my veil leaked and let in a few, then a small con- 
tingent got into my hair! 
Now did those bees behave like those Hermit tells about? 
Had the "little warriors of a moment ago" found they 
were to be robbed, and quit in despair to tiU up on honey? 
Not a bit of it. 
My hat felt as if full of red-hot barbed wire, and my 
hands as though they were full of red hot flsh hooks. If 
anyone had come along then he could have seen, it was 
my busy day, and he would have gone right away about 
his business somewhere else. 
As soon as I could get out of the grapevines, rocks and 
the brush, I made for the creek and away from where I 
seemed to be as fast as I imagined a man with only two 
legs to work with could progress. 
