62 
[Jan. 28, 189?. 
. * — =^ 
TIM, MY TUTOR.— I. 
I HAVE juat laid aside the Christmas number of Forest 
AND Steeam. It takes me back many, many years, and 
the world, looking up toward the midwinter sky, seems 
brighter than it did two hours ago. It is evening. The 
fire is burning as cheerily as it can in a womanless house, 
where embers, not flame, make the pictures of the past. 
The gun stands in the corner, wiped, but not put away 
since the last expedition for jack rabbits. My dreams 
are given shape by Fred Mather's inimitable "A Christ- 
mas with Old Port." There is the low sound of distant 
music^ — ^not of the sonata, symphony or opera, that has 
long since been dead to me, but the song of a bygone 
life. 
A June noon 1 The shadows scarcely know which way 
to fall. Down in the meadow the cows are lying in the 
bushes, or standing, belly deep, in the stream to escape 
the Egyptian plague of flies. It is ten minutes since the 
last shrill chords struck by the whetstone on the gleaming 
scythe died away. Beneath some grateful shade the 
mower is eating his frugal repast and washing it down 
with great gulps from a brown stone jug of hard cider. 
A boy climbs the four-rail fence and wonders which way 
to turn toward home. He has run away from his grand- 
father's farm to enjoy a morning with the trout. 
Secretly he dug the worms behind the old brown barn, 
noisy with the merrymaking of the hayers. Stealthily 
he sneaked up the hillside and cut a birch pole, almost 
too heavy for nim to wield. Surreptitiously he filched a 
doughnut or two from grandma's jar, and 20yds. of twine 
from the village store, and started on his expedition. 
All through the hot forenoon he fished. The robins 
chirp 3d, the thrushes warbled, the finches caroled and 
heaven seemed very close to earth. About him ti e first 
-blooming roses showered their fragrance and, where the 
slow turnings of the brook made a marsh, the cardinal 
flower flaunted all its regal splendor. He was fishing the 
headwaters of the Raritan on the border between Morris 
and Somerset counties, New Jersey. He had two small 
sunfish strung on a very diminutive twig, and he had 
doubts as to whether these were sufficient to save him 
from a well-deserved thrashing when he returned 
home. 
While he was thus pondering he heard a faint sound 
from up the road and, looking in the direction of the 
voice, he saw a sway-backed horse, a grizzly-stubbed, 
gray-haired man and a rickety wagon, all on the way 
from Mendham to Chester. The strange combination 
came nearer and now he could catch the words that the 
old man shouted, although there waa no house within a 
quarter of a mile : 
"Oh, clams, fine clams, fresh clams, I say, 
They've lately arrived from Rockaway 1" 
There is a rustle among the blueberries behind the boy 
and a tall man leaps over the fence, regardless alike of 
blossoming blackberry brambles and of the blacksnake 
that, sluggish yet ever alert, is hunting the fresh- laid eggs 
of yon disconsolate chippy. 
"Hey, mister! Haow dew ye sell them clams o' 
yourn?" 
What ensued I do not know, but I saw a dozen or so of 
clams exchanged for a couple of trout, and then the 
peddler drove on. The man who had bought the afore- 
said bivalves now became conscious of my presence. His 
shock of red, matted hair set off the clear blue of his eye, 
and the ragged shirt and torn jeans were emblems of 
glory and not blemishes in my sight— so straight, so 
strong, so frank and hearty, my boyish mind oiade Tim a 
demigod. 
"Waal, Walt, what yer doin'? Guess the old man don't 
know whar ye be I" 
He had the advantage of acquaintance. I had not, 
though I had seen him many a time loafing around the 
village store, sitting on a packing box and squirting to- 
bacco juice at every prominent nail-head. Naturally I 
afeked his name and found it to be plain "Tim." He was 
known throughout the country-side as a ne'er-do-well, 
who wasted his time on "huntin' an' fishin' an' chorin' 
'raound," His redeeming features were scrupulous hon- 
esty and a fervent devotion to Miss Cynthia Drake, the 
youngest daughter of a wealthy farmer. Cynthia might 
Bossibly have reciprocated this affection, especially as Pa 
•rake always referred to the young man as a "low-down 
feller," and whenever he found Tim on his property used 
only the expressive word "GitI" 
"What yer fishin' f er? Shiners, hey? Ye ain't goin' tew 
take them things hum, be ye?'' 
I replied that I had angled assiduously all the morning 
in hope of getting nobler game, but to no purpose. 
"Didn't spit on yer baiti Ye'll allers hev luck if ye spit 
on every bait an — Let's see; you've been fishin' in the 
sun an' stood right whar every mortial traout c'u'd see ye. 
Ye wanter drop in under some bank or inter a deep, shady 
hole, an' let yer bait float daown. Gittin' hungry? Waal, 
come on an' hev some clams. Fish don't bite much in the 
middle uv the day. I've got a little string tied tew the 
willers. Thar fur Cynthy. She's powerful fond of 
traout, she is." 
We sat in the shade and Tim displayed his prizes with 
great gusto, though there was not a fish in the lot over 
9in. in length. Then we divided the clams. My com- 
panion did the honors with a rusty knife that was entirely 
in keeping with his other possessions, I remember how, 
as he lay down and took his post-prandial quid, I resumed 
my occupation, and having carefully spit upon my bait, 
according to directions, dropped where I thought was a 
likely spot, 
A moment later my line straightened, and instinctively 
the tip of the pole described a mighty arc with such veloc- 
ity that a small shiner was dashed to pieces on the hill- 
side 50ft. away. 
. "You'll never git traout in thet way. Feel for 'em, 
Walt, an' don't be so bresk. Naow thar's a good hole 
under them willers. Jest watch me an' see haow its done. " 
Tim fixed a fresh worm on his No. 4 hook, adjusted his 
cork to the proper depth and crawling to the water's edge 
laced his line where it would be the most successful, 
lowly it sank, and the cork floated among the willow 
leaves as though absolutely heedless of its important duty, 
"Tim! It's a-bobbin'. There it goes again— 'way down 
under." 
Yery cautiously Tim gave a pull, then a harder jerk, 
but the cork did not reappear. Only the willows swayed 
uneasily, as if moved by some sub-aquatic influence. 
"He's run araound a root, but I've got him sure!" 
The fisherman divested himself of his clothes and stepped 
into the pool. He felt along the line, bending as he 
did so until naught but his red hair was visible. Then 
with a shout of triumph he suddenly straightened, 
jumped backward, and hurled upon the bank cork, line, 
and the largest brook trout that I had ever seen. All the 
afternoon we rambled; Tim doing the fishing, and I gain- 
ing the experience of his wood lore. 
"Tim," said I, as we turned homeward, "what do you 
do in the winter, when the trout don't bite?" 
"Everything to its season, boy. When the fish quit 
bitin', the squirrels come on. That's the time o' year for 
me. All the woods a-rustlin' with red and yeller; the 
chestnut burrs a-buatin' an' makin' the graound as brown 
as Cynthy's hair; the checker-berries winkin' at yer 
through the creepin' pine, and every time ye step on a 
twig so me thin' happens. Sometimes it's a jay bird that 
chatters ahead uv yer, an' ag'in it's a pa'lridge jumpin' 
up an' lightin' fur the timber like a gray cannon ball; an' 
the squirrels come aout tew see what's the matter. 
They're a sly critter, but powerful cur'ous. EE you'd lay 
daown an' pertend tew be asleep, they'd run daown the 
shagbarks tew find aout what wuz in yer pockets. Gosh! 
but it's fun tew shoot them big grays! An' then thar's 
rabbits; an' in vsdnter I can make quite a bit o' money 
trappin' mushrats an' minks. Onct 1 ketched a red fox, 
but they're powerful skeers. Sometimes I go tew Long 
Pond or Brooklyn Pond, an' allers git a few pick'rel 
through the ice. They fetch a good price tew Mor- 
rist'n. That keeps me in paowder an' sich, an' I've be- 
gun tew lay by a little fur—. Waal, I guess I'll take 
these 'ere traout up tew Cynthy, an' you'd better be git- 
tin' hum. When ye come up at Christmas, I'll take yer 
'long, ef yer dad 'il let ye go." 
Father stood by the bars bending a hickory switch in 
anything but an assuring manner. Mother was in tears, 
and I readily perceived what was coming. Just then 
grandmother, peace to her ashes, came to the door: 
"Remember, Charles, that you used to do the very 
same thing when you were a boy." 
My father, not liking to have his youthful failings thus 
published in the presence of his son, turned away, and I 
am yet awaiting my punishment. 
When we went to Mendham for the holidays I took 
the first opportunity of going to Phoenix's store to inquire 
for Tim. The boy had disappeared some weeks before. 
Perhaps he had enlisted; perhaps gone West. No one 
could tell. But every morning, when the mail arrived 
from Morristown, Cynthia Drake was at the post-office 
asking for a letter— from whence, who cared? 
Shoshone. 
ISLANDS OF THE PAQIFIC. 
No. 3.— The Chlnchas. 
Forty years ago the Chinchas were well known 
throughout the world, chiefly for their product of guano. 
They consist of three small islands on the coast of Peru, 
distant from Callao, the port of entry, some three days' 
sail. At the date of my yarn it was no unusual sight to 
see 100 sails of different nationalities at the islands load- 
ing guano. 
The islands are very high, with bluff, bold shares, while 
the guano is all on top. To load they use a canvas chute 
slung under two long cables, their shore ends secured to 
heavy posts, while outboard they, are hauled taut to an 
anchor, stretching the chute from the bluff to a point 
some lOf t. above the water, and standing at an angle of 
30 to 40°. Large iron lighters are used to convey the 
guano to the ship. The lighter is towed in and made fast 
to the cable under the chute, while the guano is dumped 
in the top and comes rattling down into the lighter. 
When full the lighter was towed alongside the ship, the 
guano hoisted out with a bucket and purchase and 
dumped in the hold. 
The bottom of the hold having been floored over with 
dunnage, the first lot of guano was put into bags, which 
were laid snugly side by side all over the bottom and 
well up the sides; this was done so that in case of spring- 
ing a leak the guano could not get into the limbers and 
choke the pumpa. The flooring off having been attended 
to, theiguano was then run in in bulk and trimmed, as 
required. The trimmer was usually shipped at Cj,llao for 
the trip to the islands. 
Callao being the nearest port of entry, all ships had to 
go there to enter; then to the islands and load, and back 
CO Callao to clear. Ships usually shipped two or three 
men, one a trimmer, for the trip, discharging them on the 
return to Callao. I sailed several trips to the islands and 
back in the capacity of trimmer, and know something of 
what It is. It was dirty work at the best, somewhat hard 
and a trifle dangerous. I have seen men hauled up from 
below, overcome by the ammonia thrown off by the guano 
during the process of handling, and bleeding at mouth, 
nose and ears. As I said, it was hard work; but the pay 
was good, the intervals between trips long enough to 
spend it in, and Callao was a good place to get rid of money. 
At that time Callao was the wildest place on the globe, 
I believe. Rum shops, dance halls and gambling dens 
were as common as daylight. Crimps were plentiful and 
shanghaiing was an every-night occurrence. What is 
that? I hear you say. Well, in those days when a ship 
master wanted men he would go to a boardinghouse 
keeper and bargain for so many men, to be delivered at a 
certain time and place. If the boarding master had them, 
well and good; if not, he must get them. Sometimes poor 
Jack would be just landed, perhaps from a long voyage. 
No matter, if there was a chance he was filled up with 
rum, then dragged aboard ship for another long voyage, 
and a two-months' advance to work out. If a 
sailor was not handy, anything would do, so 
long as the crimp got him drunk enough to ship. 
I have heard of a minister being dragged and carried 
aboard ship; and he had to go the voyage too, I have 
been on a ship where the crimp brought a dead man; the 
boat came alongside at night with some half dozen or 
more in all stages of drunkenness, while the dead man 
lay in the bottom of the boat, "Lift him up, boys," says 
the crimp; "he'll be all right when he's had his sleep 
out." So he was bundled aboard, dragged to the fore- 
castle and tumbled in, where he was found the next 
morning, having apparently been dead a day or more, 
Men have been knocked down on the street, stupefied 
with drugs and sent a voyage to sea, 
At the time of which I write there were two brothers 
in Callao— Mon and Jack Britt. One kept a den, rumshop, 
gambling house, or anything you choose to call it, while 
the other was a runner or crimp. They had several 
times tried to get hold of me, and I had been sharp enough 
to keep out of the way. I went in the shop one day 
and Jack Britt asked me to drink. I had always re- 
fused before, but this time I thought I would see 
what the row was. "All right. Jack, set them 
up." Jack handed out a small bottle from be- 
neath the bar. I filled my glass, while Jack filled his 
from another bottle. As he set the bottle down I said, 
"Jack, when I drink with a man I always like to change 
glasses for the first time," and I picked the glass he had 
filled for himself and pushed the other across the bar. 
Right then and there the circus began. His face got red 
and he roared out, "What do you mean?" There was 
something else he said for a sort of emphasis, but I don't 
like to write it. "I mean that I don't care to drink out 
of that bottle you passed me," I answered, ?'I believe it 
is drugged hquor." Jack came over the bar roaring like 
a bull. As he came for me I caught him a good one, and 
as I did I got one myself from Mon Britt, who came in 
at a side door. Two were too many, and I was thinking 
of retreat, when a short stout man came in the outside 
door with a rush. He took in the situation at a glance. 
"I'll take the big fellow, matey. You 'tend to the other 
one." 
This changed matters a trifle and before long we had 
the business all settled, books balanced and everybody 
paid off. 
My new friend proved to be a genial, whole-souled sailor, 
Sam Watson by name, and I believe the ablest man 
physically I ever knew. He was short and very broad- 
shouldered, with a drawling voice and an easy, slouching 
gait. But when he did turn loose he was a whirlwind. 
We traveled together a long time and made several trips 
to the islands. We had many a jolly time both in Callao 
and Valparaiso. 
If this should meet his eye or of anyone who ever knew 
him I should be pleased to know it. 
I was at Callao in 18G7, when I found the place greatly 
changed, There was less crimping, leas drinking and less 
fighting, and a great deal less shipping. In fact, there 
were less than a half dozen American flags in Callao of a 
Sunday morning. 
I did not go to the islands, but waa told that times were 
very dull there. 
I started in to write about the Chincha Islands and I 
have filled up my paper with personal matters, most of 
which happened in Callao. Well, I usually miss my cal- 
culations worse than that. Tarpon. 
GEORGIA GAME AND FISH. 
Macon, Ga.— The variety of conditions of soil and alti- 
tude in Georgia makes the game somewhat diversified, 
that of the coast and lower pine levels differing very ma- 
terially from that to be found in the northern and moun- 
tainous portions. The Virginia partridge (called quail by 
most sportsmen) is the most generally distributed, and is 
the game bird par excellence of this State. This gamy 
little fellow was formerly very abundant all over the 
State, but in the northern section the cold and snow of 
two years ago sadly depleted their numbers, and small 
bags are now the rule. All through the middle or central 
part of the State partridges are still to be found in fair 
numbers, eight to twelve bevies a day being a good day's 
work for a well-trained dog. The lower range of counties 
where the yellow pine forests flourish is the home of this 
bird, and it is not unusual for a bag of 80 to 100 birds in a 
day for two guns to be made, 
A few ruffed grouse frequent the laurel ridges in the 
extreme northern and northeastern parts of the State, 
but it is very hard work to bring them to bag. On the 
streams of southern and southwestern Georgia some deer, 
wild turkeys, black bears, ducks and squirrels can be 
found; turkeys and squirrels are very abundant in most 
of the river swamps. 
Dove shooting is excellent in the winter and is a sport 
that tests a man's shooting skill to the utmost. These 
birds gather in immense flocks to feed in the pea fields, 
or in baited fields, and the slaughter is immense, as many 
as fifty guns often being in one party. The Legislature, 
recognizing that this meant extermination for the doves 
if unchecked, has recently enacted a law cutting off one 
month of the open season, the time now being from Aug. 
1 to March 15, instead of July 15 to April 1. 
The farmers are almost universally posting their lands 
all over the State, but very few of them object to a gen- 
tleman sportsman shooting, their object being to keep off 
market or pot-hunters, and vagrants or negroes. 
The fishing waters ol the State lie mostly in east and 
south parts. Black bass (locally called trout) grow to a 
large siza, and in the swift-fiowing streams are very 
gamy. 
These with perch and bream are the best fish to be 
found, and on such streams as the Altamaha, Satilla and 
Allapaha rivers afford great sport. 
The brook trout are found in the mountain streams of 
north Georgia in fair numbers, but run small in size, 6 to 
Sin. being about the largest. 
There are a number of whole-souled sportsmen in 
Georgia who are always glad to extend any courtesies to 
visitors. F, 0. E. 
Brunnich's Murre on Inland New Tork Waters. 
Ithaca, N. Y., Dec, 27. — The waterfowl foreign to this 
locality which have recently been bagged in considerable 
numbers by Cayuga Lake gunners are pronounced by Dr. 
Wilder, of Cornell University, to be Btiinnich's murre, a 
species of arctic wildfowl rarely found in this latitude. 
In many important particulars the Btiinnich's murre seem 
closely related to the loon, notably the body conforma- 
tion, legs, head and beak. In size it closely corresponds 
to the butterball duck. Below the waterline.the bird is 
white, and above it is a blue black, or perhaps, to speak 
more accurately, Prussian blue. It furnishes but a small 
measure of sport, however; for, seemingly unconscious of 
danger, it sweeps in among one's decoys and stolidly re- 
mains there, despite the cannonade, until shot. Forty or 
more of these birds are said to have been bagged in a 
single day lately. M. Chill. 
[It is only a few years since we first heard of these 
birds being taken on the waters of northern New York. 
As they yield neither sport nor meat to the gunner, it 
seems a pity to kill them. J 
