Nov. 14, 1896.] 
men ponder over these figures. The good Lord and 
artificial propagation combined will be powerless against 
such slaughter as this. Unless more stringent measures 
are speedily enforced the child is born who will roam 
this vast tract and not encounter a deer, moose or cari- 
bou. Mr. E. C. Farrington, secretary of the Maine State 
Fish and Game Association, sizes up the problem well 
when he says: "If the State is to retain its great game 
preserve and keep it adequate to the demands that surely 
will be made upon it, something must be done more far- 
reaching and efiEective than ever Jias been in the way of 
legislation," 
Now then as to remedies. First and foremost Forkst 
AND Stream's platform plank: Stop the sale of game. 
Second, have the open season for all kinds of game the 
same date; have its close the same. Third, limit each 
sportsman to one moose, or one deer, or one caribou for 
the season. Fourth, make it an offense, under penalty of 
seizure and confiscation, for any one to carry rifle or 
shotgun into the woods during close season. J. W. B. 
In New Jersey. 
ASBURT Park, N. J. — Advices from the game quarters 
of this (Monmouth) county are most encouraging. I am 
in receipt of a letter from a friend, who writes: "Be sure 
and come on the first day, which is Nov. 10; I have plenty 
of quaU and more than enough rabbits on my grounds." 
Perforce I will lay aside my work and make a ten days' 
trip through old Monmouth covers, and will report what 
I find to our paper. Forest and Stream. 
Leonard Hulxt. 
The Arkansas Outlook. 
Little Eock, Ark., Oct. 27. — ^The weather is too warm 
and cover too heavy for quail shooting. A big flight of 
ducks passed South last Friday, few remaining with us. 
In November and December we shall have plenty of 
sport. J. W. Irwin. 
Quail Around Omaha. 
Omaha, Neb., Oct. 28.— Quail are quite plentiful this 
fall in the Missouri valley. With a few hard frosts to lay 
the weeds and thin out the leaves, there will be good 
sport to be had near this city. W. D. Kenyon. 
MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 
XX.— First Sergt. Frank Neaville. 
The snow had left the south side of the hills and there 
were evidences of spring overhead and underfoot when I 
parted with Antoine, he to visit some friends up the river 
and I to settle down in Potosi to a civilized life. To get 
shaved again, to sleep in a bed and renew acquaintance 
with a potato after a winter in the woods, was an agree- 
able change. Few men who have once lived the life of a 
hunter and trapper ever care more for civilization than to 
keep on its outside edge, and they move on as it drives 
them to seek new fields. I imagme such men find it dull 
in summer, for they are seldom reading men, and when 
fur is not in season their lives must be monotonous. I 
soon dropped into my old way of life in the quaint little 
mining village of Potosi. 
"Goin' a-fishin'?" asked Frank Neaville, as he saw me 
selecting some fishing tackle in one of the stores. "Henry 
has a new boat and he's goin' to take it down to the land- 
ing soon, maybe you can get him to go to-morrow; you 
know he's always ready for a fish or a hunt, no matter 
what's goin' on." 
We walked down to the hotel kept by the father of 
these boys and found Henry in the back yard putting a 
painter into a ring in the bow of a new boat and making 
a neat eye-splice in it, for Henry could do many such 
things when he chose. "Hello, Henryl" said I, "you've 
got a nice sharpie there, but in our talks since I came 
down from the Bad Ax you haven't mentioned it." 
"What's that name you called the boat?" 
"A sharpie. What do you call it?" 
"I call it a skiff, and it is a skiff; sharpie is some of 
your New York language, I suppose; did you ever hear of 
a skiff?" 
"Yes, and they are two different boats in the New York 
language, but we won't fight about that. I want to go 
fishing to-morrow, and if you want to try the new shar — 
skiff, I mean, just fill her tuU of water to swell the seams 
and get her on the wagon in the morning, that's all." 
Frank called attention to the fact that there was room 
for three, and intimated that he would go if his company 
was earnestly desired. 
"Frank," replied his brother, "you know that you're 
the durn'dest fool in a boat that lives in Wisconsin. Last 
year you upset us when we were coming down Ssvift 
Sloo by grabbing a branch to look after some wounded 
bird and we had to stop all night on the island and be 
eaten by mosquitoes because Fred's rifle was in the bot- 
tom of the sloo. We don't want any more of that funny 
business and you had better stay home." Then turning 
tome, Henry explained: "Frank's all right to weigh out 
sugar and coffee in a grocery and he can figure up how 
many papers of tacks would oalance a pound of nails, but 
you had a sample of him last year; he hasn't got good, 
sound sense, like a mule, for a mule can take care of him- 
self any time and wouldn't dump us all in the drink to 
look at a pelican. If you can stand him, all right, I 
won't object." 
Then it was Frank's innings. He was the younger but 
larger of the two, and he replied: "Henry is the bright 
boy of the family, and very few families have more than 
one bright boy, if they're so fortunate as to have even 
one. He is the oldest and there are several little fellows 
growing up, and if I'm not as brilliant as Henry I can't 
help it, but I hope some of the little fellows may come 
near his high standard. I don't want to go if I'm not 
wanted." And he turned off and went into the house. 
This was the first time that I had seen Frank resent 
Henry's good-natured chaff, and 1 hurried after him and 
brought him back. Said I: "Henry, I want Frank to 
go with us, and, confound you, you want him to go, but 
your temptation to roast him over that upset is fun for 
you, but Frank doesn't like it. As a student of Shakes- 
peare, you will remember that somewhere he says that a 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
joke requires a good listener, or something of the kind, 
to make it go. Frank thinks you are bearing too hard on 
him for his mistake and if s time to let up." 
Henry laughed and said: "Frank never knows a joke 
when he hears it; wouldn't know one if he found it in 
his soup. That thing of Shakespeare's just fits him; he 
said something about a joke being lost in the ears of some 
men, I cant recall it now.* 
"Of course, if Frank wants to go fishing with, us, all 
right, I've no objection, and in fact would like to have 
him go; but since the time when we slept out on the 
island I have gone fishing a dozen times and he has never 
asked to go. I think he likes your company. Come 
along, Frank, I only wanted to knock a little fun out of 
you and you go off mad." Frank winked at me; he was 
not angry the least bit, but this was his joke on his 
brother. 
In the morning we walked behind the wagon which 
carried the boat to the river, for it had a load of lead. I 
took my rifle along because I wanted some meat either of 
duck or hog, or both. As related in my sketch of Henry 
four weeks ago, there were hogs on the islands and I had 
bought an interest in them. I also had several cane ' 'poles," 
as we called them, and loaned one to each of the boys. I was 
inclined to be a "dude" sportsman in that early day, 
if we interpret that abused term to mean a man who likes 
to own the best things that he can get and who will pay a 
quarter of a dollar for a light natural cane in preference 
to using a heavy sapling cut in the woods to be thrown 
away after using. In fact, I would to-day, if not then, 
rather be a "Sunberry Fisher" than his opposite. The 
London Punch created "Ye Sunberry Fisher" many years 
ago, and in order that a generation which has grown up 
since its publication may know just what kind of a fisher- 
man he was I copy from my scrap book the poem from 
Punch and send it to the editor, who may possibly think 
fit to print it. In these days of game hogs and of men 
who fish for count and brag, I say with due deliberation 
and with full knowledge of the ridicule to which a man 
with fine fishing tackle is subjected if he is unsuccessful 
in a day's fishing, that I would rather be in his place and 
own tackle to be proud of than to be the proverbial boy 
with an alder pole, a "letter in the post-office," and a big 
string of trout. 
With the man who loves fishing for itself and not for 
the fish, the capture of a record-breaking string is of no 
consequence. The old story of the "funny man" catches 
the popular fancy. To-day when I fish for trout I use a 
rod which cost $35, and it is worth every cent of it. My 
reel, line and book of flies cost ae much more, and on a 
trout stream there is no bare-footed farmer's boy with his 
alder pole and worm who can, day after day, take more 
trout than I or thousands of other anglers can. He 
might on an odd day where he knew all the trout holes — 
but not as a rule. And if he did? Still I say: I would 
prefer to be the Sunberry Fisher who "caught nothing at 
all," for why do we prefer a gold watch to a silver one? 
It may keep no better time. We like elegant harness on 
our horses, but they pull the carriage no better than if 
tied to it with bits of rope! Now you young anglers can 
see just what I mean. There is pleasure to the sportsman 
in cleaning and caring for his rod or gun; he has a feel- 
ing of companionship for. it — he gets to love it for the 
memories it brings, and to throw it aside after a fishing 
or shooting trip would be base ingratitude. There is a 
high and noble affection for old companions in the forest 
and on the stream, and the man who truly loves the 
sport for sport's sake, and not for the amount of meat he 
gets, cherishes the implements which aided hini. Even a 
savage will ornament his pipe and his war club — but my 
pen is straying again and has led me off from the story 
of this particular fishing trip. Let it go; the editor will 
probably "blue pencil" all the extraneous matter, and so 
we get back to the mouth of Grant River, Wis., in the 
spring of 1856, with the Neaville boys. 
Henry watched the boat after it was launched and 
seemed satisfied with its balance in the water, and we 
rowed off to one of the islands which are so numerous 
along the great Mississippi at this point. When we pulled 
up on the island Henry "asked: "Where do you want to 
fish? Here you can get swift water or still water, just as 
you want it." A bend where water plants were just 
struggling to get to the top of the water caught my eye, 
and it looked like a good spot for pike, so I replied, "I've 
got some small minnow hooks, and if we stop right here 
and get about fifty small fish, we may get some good pike 
over in that bend among t^e weeds. The result was simi- 
lar to that recorded in sketch IX., "The Brock way Boys." 
Skittering for pike or pickerel was a new thing, and all 
new methods are distrusted. The old woman who saw a 
patent machine for milking cows looked at it and de- 
clared, "The old-fashioned way is the best;" and in this 
case she was right. Henry did not say a word against it, 
but, like William Brockway, he thought there might be a 
thing or two that he had not learned, but Frank said: 
"When you put one of these little fish on your hook, 
and let it down in the water where the big fish live, you 
may get one; but to 'skitter' a little fish over tbe surface 
and scare all the big ones below looks like foolishness, 
but if you say it's a good plan we'll try it. Mother will 
expert some fish for breakfast, and I want to go over in a 
tree top and get some crappies. I don't want to go back 
without a thing." 
Henry had listened to all this, and after some delibera- 
tion said: "Let's land Frank in a tree top, and then go 
over and try for the pike. Mother can't have any of our 
fish for breakfast to-morrow, because we've got provisions 
for two days and we propose to stay and eat 'em up if 
Frank doesn't see another wounded pelican and upset the 
boat. Yes, Frank, you get in that tree top aad fish for 
crappies, and we'll stop and get you day after to-morrow. 
We'll leave you grub enough, and there's a good big limb 
to straddle, so you'll be comfortable until we come back. 
The mosquitoes are not out yet, and you'll be very happy. 
If the limb gets to be uncomfortable, you can change and 
sit on it side-saddle fashion." 
Frank looked at me and asked: "Are you going to 
stay out to-night and not go home until Saturday morn- 
ipg?" 
* We could not quote from memory. The sense of the thing had 
been retained, but tbe words would not come at call. What we were 
skirmishing around was the speech of Rosaline, in "Love's Labour's 
Lost," when she says: 
"A jest's prosperity lies In the ear 
Of him who hears it, never in the tongue 
Of him that makes it." 
A man with a keen sense of humor meets this truth— oh, bo often 1 
S8« 
"That was our arrangement and I thought you under- 
stood it; when the axe was put in the wagon you asked 
what it was for and Henry told you it was to cut wood 
for camp, and we would not need a fire if we were going 
home to-night; I'm sorry if — " 
"No, don't be sorry about me, I'll stay out as long as 
any of you if you'll only make Henry let up about that 
accident last summer. If he doesn't stop it I'll duck him 
again when I can do it without wetting you. Every 
man, woman and child in Potosi knows about that upset 
of the boat and that's enough. I don't care about it since 
I said I was sorry, but all winter, while you were away, 
he would grin as he passed me and quote from Byron: 
"Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell — 
Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave; 
Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yeU, 
As eager to anticipate their grave." 
"He used to spout that in school and he thought it 
would annoy me, but it didn't — well, not as much as he 
thought it did." 
Frank was more sensitive to Henry's exasperating nag 
ging than he would own. It was not so much Henry's 
quotation from Don Juan as the "grin" which accom- 
panied it, and by constant repetition Frank had become 
sensitive, as "the touched needle trembles at the pole," 
and this sort of thing is not conducive to congenial fish- 
ing. I told Frank that Henry would find some other out- 
let for his humor. When Henry came back with some 
minnows, after we had landed, I took him one side and 
Frank's peace of mind about the upset was undisturbed 
afterward. 
We caught some minnows and skittered for pike, or 
"pickerel," as we called them in New York, and took six 
or seven that day — fish that would weigh from 3 to 61be. 
We had no reels, we weren't up to that in those days, but 
we had a ring on the top of the rod and gave line, or 
hauled in through it. Once Frank struck a big one. He 
yelled: "Come and help me I He'U get awayl The line 
is cutting my hand," etc. , and I took his coat-tail in my 
palm and checked the fish. When it was safo in the boat 
Frank drew a long breath and said: "Well, I'll bedurned 
if that fish won't weigh SOlbs. If you hadn't helped me 
he would have broken something or I would have been 
pulled overboard. Yes, by Jing! He'll weigh 251bs.l" 
My own estimate was that the pike might weigh about 
lOlbs. , but what was the use of putting a dami)er on the boy's 
enthusiasm? My new mode of skittering a minnow on 
the surface had won, his skepticism had vanished, and it 
was a triumph for both. We went ashore, rolled a log 
down to the water and dug out a basin behind it, where 
our fish could be kept alive, their splaahings in the water 
serving to circulate it through the small openings at each 
end of the log; for we didn't want to kill our game until 
we started for home. 
The day was a fine one and the fishing was fair for those 
days; it would be called excellent, grand, to-day, and con- 
sidering the high state of the river we did well. The 
bend where we fished was comparatively still water, just 
the place for pike, which prefer quiet nooks and ponds 
and avoids the quick waters. The geese had passed North, 
and so had the great bodies of swans and pelicans; but to 
our surprise a small fiock of sandhill cranes went over us, 
high in the air and glistening in the sun. Most likely the 
last flock of the season. Frank called attention to them 
and wondered what they were. 
"Sandhill cranes," said Henry, 
Frank grinned and replied: "I never saw such a fellow 
to know everything as Henry is. That flock of birds are 
too high up to see their shape and he'll tell you just what 
they are. He thinks he can play anything on me. What 
do you think they are?" 
"Just as Henry named them. Henry is more of a 
hunter, naturalist, or whatever you are a mind to call 
him," said I. "He notices things which you don't see. 
Watch the flight of that flock. See! They all flap their 
wings in unison and then all stop at once and sail, seem- 
ing to follow the 'stroke oar.' l)id you ever see any other 
birds do that?" 
"I never noticed them. It is queer, though, how they 
all work together that way. Djn't geese fly like that?" 
"Oh, no; a goose is a heavy-bodied bird that couldn't sail 
a minute up there; it's hard work for a goose from the 
time it starts until it stops. If you watch the flight of 
different kinds of ducks and the way they flock you will 
soon be able to tell what they are. There goes a dozen 
mallards; see how differently they fly from the bluebills 
coming up behind them. I can't tell you the difference, 
but you can see it." 
"Well, by jing! That's so. I thought all ducks flew 
alike. I can tell ducks from crows by the way they fly, 
but never noticed them as -close as that. Henry, old boy ! 
you know a heap more than people think you do; they 
haven't found you out yet." 
Henry made no reply to this, but suggested that it was 
time to go ashore and make camp. It was quite a job to 
find a camping spot on the island. It had been well 
soaked in the spring freshets, and the lower leaves of the 
underbrush were covered with dried sediment where they 
had been submerged. Henry knew these islands well, 
and led us to a knoll near a pond which was dry in sum- 
mer, but was filled now, and afforded a good feeding place 
for ducks. We had hauled the boat well up and tied it 
fast in case the river should rise in the night. We made 
a little bough house and a bed of dry leaves, made a pot 
of coffee and ate supper before dark. 
As I remember the geography after an absence of forty 
years, it is some five or six miles from shore to shore near 
Potosi, the main channel of the river being on the Iowa 
side. On the Wisconsin shore the Grant River came in 
and there was a lot of wooded islands along there with 
channels of all degrees of swiftness between them. In 
the days of whicli I write the ducks congregated here in 
great numbers in spring and fall. We were well out and 
preferred to stay on the island than to row over to the 
main land. After supper I told Henry that I had never 
slept on any of these islands in duck time, and if he did 
not object we would not light our night fire until after 
dark, so that we could see the ducks come in. It was 
about half an hour before sundown, and some of the 
flocks began to arrive, and such a babel! The heavy mal- 
lards would come in, back wind with their wings and 
drop down with a splash, and then the loud-voiced females 
would raise a din. Swift bluebills and butterbaUs would 
rush over our heads, circle around and settle down. The 
swiftest of all ducks, the little green-winged teal, would 
suddenly appear from nowhere and splash down into the 
water without circling about, coming into it much as a 
