208 
FOREST ANlD STREAM. 
[Sept. l3, 1896. 
how one comes to be used to thia faint smell, so that he 
misses it when away. So far we have been too comfort- 
able to go fishing, but the walla of the dining hall bear an 
array of heads of fishes — 171b. pickerel, 51b. baaa, and the 
like — which show what Minnetonka haa up her sleeve. 
And near by, in a° place which ray friends wot of —sev- 
enty -five miles is near by nowadays — there are some prai- 
rie chickens, and next week comes opening day. Alas! 
Napoleon, in every way except that of marble coffins you 
are not in it. 
Minnetonka has sporting news about it in abundance, 
as has any place always where out of doors folk fore- 
gather. For instance, I learn of a certain type of yacht 
here of which I have not seen mention ever in 
Forest and Stream, but which threatens to make 
revolution in Western sailing matters at least. This 
is the half-catamaran known as the Tartar. The man 
who built this boat knew about the Malay catamaran, 
and its faults as well as its virtues; so he made the bow of 
his boat like that of any boat (above water), and the stern 
of it he made like a catamaran, as who should say, he 
could have made a whole catamaran if he had tried. 
The result is a boat which theoretically and scientifically 
cannot possibly sail a Uck on earth, but which practically 
and actually does sail about twice as fast as all the other 
boats. It is most singular, and at times most annoying, 
to see the perverse stupidity of facts. 
Another item of interest to outdoor folk I find in Mr. 
Phelps's house tent in the form of a chimney. Most tent 
stoves wind up in a blaze of glory by burning the tent 
down on the first rainy day, when you need the tent 
most. Mr. Phelps has made a stovepipe which is also a 
tent pole. This stovepipe is an upright wooden tent pole 
for about 5ft., then it goes into a socket and becomes a 
galvanized iron stovepipe, with a hole in the side for the 
pipe from the stove. At the top of the tent this stovepipe 
tent pole swells out into a hollow cylinder, perforated for 
ventilation. Above the tent this cylinder is continued up 
in the form of a chimney, insuring a draft for the stove 
and carrying off all smoke. The tent, guarded by a 
leather collar, slips right down over the chimney as 
though it were a spike in the top of the pole, and stops 
away from it on each side. The idea is only a civilized 
adaptation of the Sibley tent and Indian tepee idea, one 
of the best ever hit upon by tent dwellers in search of 
warmth and freedom from smoke. Mr. Phelps guards 
against sparks by treating his tents occasionally with an 
alum solution. If a spark falls on this sort of a tent it 
burns in a small round hol6 which does not spread. A 
dry cotton tent not thus prepared will burn cheerfully 
down to the tent pins. E. HouGH. 
MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 
XI.-Gen. Martin Miller. 
With clothing torn and bloody, his face bruised and 
cut, one eye blackened and swollen shut, Mat Miller came 
down the main street in Greenbush one day. Beside him 
walked a giant negro like Eugene Aram, "with gyves upon 
his wrists," and in a condition like Mat's as to face and 
clothing. Thia sight so impressed me that it always 
came up whenever I heard of or saw Mr, Miller. We 
little boys had never seen such a sight, and when we 
learned that the colored desperado had been a terror to 
the coTmtry for miles around, and was a burglar, and 
that Constable Miller, having learned that he was sleep- 
ing in the old spook-house barn, had attacked him alone 
and captured him after a long and fierce fight, he was 
our hero. We learned in later years that this genial fine- 
looking athlete was the champion wrestler of Rensselaer 
county, and at "collar and elbow" or "square hold" could 
lay the local wrestlers on their backs. But this capture 
of the powerful burglar overtopped his other feats. 
Some time after this event Herr Driesbach, the great 
animal trainer, wintered his menagerie in the village, in 
the stables of Bill Graines, the local racing man, on Broad- 
way, just below Columbia street, back of Fly's brick store, 
which still stands there. In those days the circus and the 
menagerie were two distinct things. The circus had no 
animals, while the menagerie had a ring in which dogs 
and monkeys rode on ponies and appealed to that portion 
of the public which objected to men and women in tights. 
In early days, when my father's barges brought emigrants 
up the river to Albany, Jake Driesbach was an emigrant 
runner for a line of canal boats which took them to Buf- 
falo. He then went to Germany, and returned as "Herr 
Driesbach, the world-renowned lion tamer." Boys were 
not wanted in the stables, but as father's business froze 
up when the river did, and Driesbach came to our house 
in the loug evenings to play chess with father, I had the 
run of the show, to the envy of the other boys, who could 
not get in unless I chose to take them. To be on intimate 
terms with so great a man — for a lion tamer is the biggest 
kind of man to a small boy — was indeed a pleasure un- 
known to men who were never boys. By that I mean 
those old fellows who were born "young men" and never 
had any fun because they had no inclination for it. 
The privilege of seeing these animals at all times was 
something, but to witnees the rehearsals that were neces- 
sary to keep both men and animals in readiness for the 
opening performance in the spring was a thing that a 
real live full-blooded boy would naturally class as but 
little below paradise, if he didn't consider it a dozen miles 
above. As the village constable, Mat Miller walked in 
the menagerie when he pleased. In fact any reputable 
citizen could, the line was drawn at boys who might get 
hurt or into mischief. There was no steam-heating ap- 
paratus in those days, and the two elephants, the giraffe 
(the first one ever in America), the monkeys and other 
inhabitants of warm countries were in the end where the 
great stoves were. One day a chained elephant became 
scared at something; Driesbach said the .animal saw a 
mouse and feared it would go up its trunk. The cage 
containing the royal Bengal tiger was overturned and 
pandemonium, or the Cooptr Union after an Anarchist 
meeting was a Quaker assembly compared to it. The 
elephants trumpeted, lions roared, hyenas howled, 
monkeys screamed and what the cockatoo said is lost. 
"Mat" was there and so was Driesbach and the writer. 
The constable jumped, grabbed the cage by the top and 
forced it back to its place at the expense of a coat and a 
torn shoulder from the tiger's claws. Driesbach was 
astounded at the quickness and strength of this unassum- 
ing man and ofifered him a lucrative position to travel 
with him, which was declined. Me? O, yesi After it 
was all over "Dandy" Nesbitt the jockey, Tom Scribner 
and I were found safe under the wagon where the trick 
bear had his residence. 
Up to about 1845 there waa lots of fun every year at 
"general training." This was an assembling of the uni- 
formed and the ununiformed militia for several days or a 
week's drill in camp, as required by law. The ununi- 
formed militia consisted of every man between certain 
ages, not specially exempted, who could, I think, escape 
by paying a certain sum. It was a grand spree for some 
and the guard-house was always well filled with drunks. 
When in garrison in later years thia gang was known as 
Company Q, 
Martin Miller was a general of militia, but of what 
rank I never knew, in fact, rank waa unknown to us 
boys beyond the fact that there were officers and privates. 
It was my fortune to see two "general trainin's," one on 
the farm of John Morris, above the village, and the other 
at Clinton Heights. Then I think the law was changed 
and they were abolished, perhaps before 1845, for I was 
then old enough to remember more than two such 
rackets. It was a great event. Drums, flags, the squads 
of farmers' boys who couldn't keep step to the drum, the 
neat uniforms of some of the companies, the usual crowd 
of bumpkins, yokels, three-card-monte men, thimble-rig- 
gers, sweat boards, chuck-luck and other gamblers, pea- 
nuts, gingerbread and, above all. General Martin Miller 
resplendent in chapeau hras, epaulet, sword and sash, 
mounted on a white horse, trying to bring order out of 
chaos. If all these things did not make soldiers for the 
State out of the rawest kind of material it certainly made 
a very large day for the small boy. 
If any one trait was more prominent than another in 
the mental make-up of General Miller it waa his love of 
boys and his desire to see them have fim. Having no 
children of his own at that time, he^was fond of those of 
his neighbors. Things were getting along in shape and 
the gamblers were reaping a harvest when the General 
invited a crowd of boys to follow him if they wanted to 
see some fun. Every sweat board and chuck-luck table 
had piles of coin of all sizes and values piled up to show 
their ability to pay bets, and as the General came along- 
side of one he would wheel his horse suddenly, clap the 
spurs to him and that gambler's coin waa scattered far 
and wide, a harvest for those who could reap. Somehow 
the gamblers did not appear to like this, judging from 
their remarks. 
Years after thia the General became a grocer and in 
that very democratic community subsided iiato plain, 
every-day Mat Miller, so called by every man, woman and 
child in the village. 
We were in his store one day talking of going down to 
the Popskinny for a couple of days' fishing and to camp 
in Rivenburg's barn in the hay. 
"What do you boys do down there at night?" he asked. 
"Perhaps you raid Teller's potato patch and roast his 
potatoes with his fence rails. I think I'll go along to keep 
you straight." 
"Come along," said Billy Shaw, "we'll let you gather 
drift-wood and then you'll know whether we use fence 
rails or not.' 
"Yes," chipped in John Atwood, "and you can hook 
the potatoes too, if you want 'em. We never trouble the 
farmers and they don't trouble us. We take our grub 
along and just cook a few fish." 
Billy Atwood, a boy who seldom said anything, re- 
marked: "Mat might go and milk some of Rivenburg's 
cows if he wants to eat his fish in milk," a reference to a 
man who was said to have tried, this dish on recommenda- 
tion of one Harleigh Mather, whose humor lay in such 
things. This man was known as "Suckers and Milk" until 
life became a burden to him and he moved away. This 
same irreverent joker in after years replied to a clergy- 
man who wished to know how to cook frogs: "Oh, we 
stew them just as we do bats." I do not approve of this 
sort of thing except when I do it myself. 
Rivenburg's barn was only used to store hay in until it 
could be pressed into bales and sent oS, therefore it was 
empty most of the year, but there was always enough 
loose hay left to sleep in. It was one of the finest barns 
you ever saw, for ventilation. The doors were off the 
hinges and were propped up by poles. We did not dis- 
turb them, but walked in from whichever side was con- 
venient. The double doors were, if I remember, a trifle 
larger than the other holes. 
John Atwood had brought the worms for bait in some 
old mustard boxes, and we assured Mat that they were 
not brought in the coffee-pot because that had been kept 
hidden in the barn as part of our permanent outfit, along 
with the frying-pan and tin cups. Hot coffee, fried 
sausages and other things saw us comfortably fed by sun- 
down. Great clouds came up and the wind shook the 
barn and we hurried to the tightest corner as the storm 
suddenly broke over us. The thunder made the barn 
shake and it could not have rained harder. Flash after 
flash came so fast and the thunder followed so quickly 
that one could hardly note the interval. Heaven's artil- 
lery opened right over us and every fellow was doing his 
own thinking and keeping it to himself. Billy Shaw was 
the exception. He ventured to remark: "Maybe you fel- 
lows like this, but I wish I was home!" That broke the 
spell and he was nearly smothered in the hay which they 
piled on him. During this smothering of Shaw I saw, or 
believe I saw, a flash of lightning shoot up from the 
ground. It was so close to the barn that it seemed as if a 
man had shot a gun in the air. Two boards were off that 
side and there was no man there. If such a thing ever 
occurs, I saw an instance of it, if it does not I was de- 
ceived. No hole in the ground was visible in the morn- 
ing, but half a century has not dimmed the picture. 
Such a rain never lasts long and soon the stars were 
shining, and we rebuilt the little fire, and with dry 
material from the barn for seats were enjoying life, when 
the sound of oars was heard, and soon the lapping of the 
water under the bottom of a little scow told that a boat 
was near. 
"Halt! Who comes there?" waa the challenge of the 
General. 
Bill Atwood, John's younger brother, who had already 
shown symptoms of nautical bacteria which eventually 
dragged him to a sailor's hfe, hailed the coming craft 
with: "Aboard the scow! Pull on yer starb'd oar or you'll 
foul our coffee-pot!" 
A few more strokes and the boat was beached and out 
stepped the old trapper, Port Tyler. "Where's that coffee- 
pot?" said he, "I'm wet an' cold and some hot coffee is 
just what I want. No, thanks, nothing to eat, I've got 
lots. Why, Mat Miller! What you doin' here campin 
out with these boys? I see ye all go by when I was hid in 
the lilypads around the bend yonder watchin' for wood 
ducks, an' I knowed the hull lot on'y Mat, an' I'd, a 
knowed him ef I'd a suspected he'd come a-campin' with 
you boys. What 're ye up to. Mat? Burglars or thieves 
been on the island, or are ye on'y lookin' up the boys 
that's just come of age and just goin' to vote for the first 
time this fall?" 
"Sit down here," said the General, "get outside of this 
warm coffee. I'm not looking for you, but there's a 
widow up there at John Morris's rope- walk that is, and 
she'll get you too if you don't look out." 
This was a clean knock-out, for if ever there waa a man 
who was shy of a woman it was that confirmed old bach- 
elor, Port Tyler. 
The stars twinkled. Venus just about to disrobe and 
retire for the night winked at Polaris, the night clerk, 
and hid herself behind Bethlehem woods. A night heron 
said "quawk" in a derisive tone, and even the little bam 
owl seemed unduly hilarious as it alighted on the gable 
of the barn with a field-mouse. Then there was a vast 
wave of silence that rose like the battle waves of Oasian 
and overflowed the lands on either side of the historic 
Popskinny. No doubt old Port might have thought 
with Hamlet: 
"It Is not, nor it cannot come to good; 
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue." 
This is merely surmise. Miller's shot struck home, and 
the bashful trapper took it in silence. Not a leaf stirred. 
Billy Shaw finally ventured to ask, "What kind o' game 
are you after. Port?" 
Oh, just lookin' for yellow-legs and shore birds. I've 
got three young *quawks in the boat, and nobody about 
here eats 'em but me; so I can't sell 'em, an' if you'll eat 
'em I'll cook 'em." 
By unanimous consent it was voted "a go," or words to 
that effect. Billy Shaw had no fear of thunder now that 
it was not in his immediate front, aaid that we were 
down for fun and might as well have it. "If you are not 
hungry now," said he, "you will be by the time old Port 
gets these song birds dressed and cooked." 
John Atwood and I took Port's boat and put out his set 
lines for eels, in order to have fish for breakfast. These 
lines were of iin. cord, reaching from bank to bank. 
At every 2ft. was a 1ft. snood tied with a "bow-timber 
hitch," dropping only 1ft. below. This enabled the fisher 
to snatch a snood loose and drop it in the boat, eel or no 
eel; but the beauty of Tyler's rig was the eyed hooks with 
a knot above and one below, which prevented an eel from 
unlaying the snood and breaking it strand by strand, 
merely turning the hook as if on a swivel. There is no 
patent on it. 
The quawks were roasted when we returned after put- 
ting out the eel lines in several places, and the fact that 
we had eaten one supper did not prevent us from eating 
of the sia-ange birds, and they were not a bit fishy, as one 
would suppose, but were tender and good. Port had set 
up a wind break and heat reflector by the fire and hung 
the birds on strings, so that they kept twisting round. 
When we came to crawl into the hay for the night Billy 
Shaw seemed a bit nervous and inquired if there might be 
rats about, and that started stories of enormous rats that 
lived along the creek and in the barns, all for his benefit. 
The little owl would whinny not unlike a horse, and Billy 
waa evidently uneasy until Miller ran a stick in a wiggling 
way into the hay and said something about snakes. Then 
Billy vowed that he would go home. The General owned 
up and persuaded him to lie down, and the next we knew 
the night had gone. 
We had eels enough for breakfast on the first line, and 
then Port took up the others and left us. We fished until 
near noon, when the fish took a rest and we gathered at 
the barn, each with several strings of perch, bullheads 
and rock bass. John Atwood had a strange fish, one that 
none of the party had ever seen before. We learned that 
it waa a black baas, a Western fish that had come into the 
Hudson by way of the Erie Canal, so Harleigh said, and 
he was the village authority on fish and fishing. Just 
why the bass have not become more plenty in the upper 
river is a problem. Down about Newburgh, where the 
water is often somewhat brackish, they seem to be more 
plentiful. A little more fishing in the afternoon, and we 
went home after sundown. The General declared it was 
a pleasant trip, but I never knew him to fish before or 
after this once. 
Back of Ruyter & Van Valkenburg's tannery there was 
a great heap of spent tanbark to tumble in, and Jimmy 
Brown and I practiced somersaults there; the other boys 
merely jumped. This interested the General, and he 
would help us in a whirl with his strong arm, which landed 
us on our feet. This was a special help in the back flop. 
Poor Jimmy Brown! We used to play the banjo for each 
other's jigs on the sanded floor until he was burned up on 
the steamer Reindeer in the summer of 1850. Gjueral 
Miller also taught us to wrestle in the "collar and ell ow" 
and "square hold" styles, and always impressed his rorrec- 
tion of a fault upon us by taking hold himself and mak- 
ing the faulty one put his foot or his weight in the wrong 
position and then quickly laid him on his back. There 
were many fair wrestlers then among the boys of Green- 
bush. 
One winter, when the ice was exceptionally good, he 
proposed a skating party to Hudson, some twenty-eight 
miles down the river. We had an ice boat that some of 
the boys built, and this was to go along to pick up strag- 
glers and to return on. Cub Wilson sailed the boat. A 
Greenbush boy of those days had little reverence and less 
respect in his composition, and nicknames were common. 
Wilson was then about twenty-five years old, fat and un- 
wieldy, and had been called Cub from boyhood and 
didn't mind it. He may have had a given name, and no 
doubt his mother called him by it. The party consisted 
of John Atwood, John and Hiram Stranahan, Jerry Van 
Beuren, James Miles, Isaac Polhemus, John Phillips, 
General Miller and myself, the youngest in the party. 
We started in the morning about 8. A light south wind 
was in our faces, and coats and overcoats were soon piled ~ 
on the ice boat. In places the ice was too rough to skate, 
and once we took off the skates and walked about half a 
mile. Phillips and the Stranahans were the best skaters, 
and took the lead and kept it, reaching Hudson some 
* This is the way we called thia night heron, Nycticorax. The com- 
mon name is sometimes spelled "squawk," while some naturalists 
call it "the qua bird." IC you take my spelling and add ''quock" to 
it, and then divide the sum total by two, you viiiX get very near to the 
bird's own pronunciation of its name, and who should know better 
than he 7 a 
