May S9, 189T.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
427 
beckon us to return as we took our last look at the river 
from a bend in the road. Some one commenced to hum 
"Say Au Eevoir but not Grood-Bye" and you could hear the 
chorus fully a mile away. It was the most pleasant trip in 
the recollections of the party. Our thoughts went back to 
the schoolboy days, and, as each related some little story of 
his first catch, I wondered if we would meet again the com- 
ing summer. 
Now, one last word of advice to carflpers. If you want to 
camp and do it right, make your camp rules, appoint your 
workers, and let every member do the work assigned him. 
Tou will all enjoy yourselves in that way, and eacb and 
every one will have a share in the duties as well as pleasures 
of the camp, and you will come home with no bitter feel- 
ings, but will vote camping a success. Stilly. 
MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 
XLli.— Leonard Jewell. 
The name lias an unfamiliar look as I write it, for no 
one called him anything but Len or Old Len. When I 
first met him, in 1874, he was nearly sixty years of age, 
tall, broad-shouldered, active and powerful, without an 
ounce of superfluous flesh. Aa related in the last sketch, 
he was the favorite guide of Mr. D. H. Fitzhugh, of Bay 
City, Mich. Their relations were much closer, however, 
for there existed a friendship between them only broken 
by death, if then, for Plato says: "True friendship between 
man and man is infinite and immortal." And this was a 
case of the truest friendship, and between men mentally 
and physically as unlike as possible. One light-hearted 
and jolly, fond of good living and companions; the other 
a taciturn man of the woods, satisfied with the simplest 
camp fare, if there was plenty of it. 
The grayling were not rising well. "I'll tell you what 
to do," said Len, "I'll pole over to the weeds and get some 
caddis. Put one o' them on the hook, let it sink and you'll 
get 'em ev'ry time." 
"I'll do no such thing. We came out to take them 
j with the fly, and as they don't seem to care for the 
oak fly to-day, nor the black-prince with a tinsel body, I'll 
keep on changing until I've tried every fly in the book; 
but I decline to use bait." 
I "It's cur'us; that's just the way Dan talks, but when I 
. go a-fishin' I want to catch fish; if they prefer bait to flies, 
I I give 'em their choice." 
I "How about net and spear, Len; they are the next steps 
\ down. If these grayling refused fly and bait, would you 
I net 'em, or spear 'em, in an any-way-to-get-'em fashion?" 
, "Years ago I would, but not now, I've been with Dan 
[ so many years, and he's showed me how to fly-flsh, an' 
I've seen so much of skinning streams for market that I'm 
dead sot ag'in it; but in square, hook an' line fishin' what's 
the difierence?" 
I "I see that your education has gone on well under Dan 
but you haven't learned that one fish taken with a fly is 
more satisfactory than a dozen taken with bait; the bait- 
fisher is only a fellow craftsman, while the fly-fisher is a 
master of the art." 
He evidently understood the allusion, and after a mo- 
ment's thought asked: "Ain't your flies bait? What does 
a fish think they are unless they're something good to 
eat?" 
This philosopher of the woods had asked a question the 
answer to which was perfectly clear to me, but would not 
be to him. A grayling rose at my royal-coachman and was 
hooked. I thanked the fish, mentally, for it relieved me 
from an immediate answer; and as it was reeled in and 
boated I called attention to that particular fly and thought 
itimight be successful again. But Len was not to be, put off. 
He repeated the question, and my only refuge waS: 
"0, bait-fishing for trout or grayling is dunghill fish- 
ing!" 
"That's just what Dan says, an' I've talked with him 
often on the subject; but as long as you use light tackle and 
feel the fish fight as you reel it in, there seems Uttle differ- 
ence whether you deceive it by a hook concealed in a worm 
or in a bunch of feathers." 
The mists of the morning had rolled up from the river 
light clouds were reflected in the water, and the grayling 
began rising, but would not notice the royal-coachman 
and I changed back to the yellow and brown-oak fly with 
success. "Len," said I, "when Dan and you go out after 
snipe and woodcock and you happen to see the bird that 
the dog points, you would not shoot it on the ground 
would you? You would put the bird up and kill it in 
the air, if you could, and be proud of your skill. Isn't that 
so?" 
"That's so, sure; but I never thought of comparing that 
with catching fish. Perhaps the two are something alike 
after all. I wouldn't shoot a woodcock on the ground and 
outside of seeing the dogs work, finding the birds 'and 
knocking them down, I don't see why men talk so much 
about woodcock. Dan has 'em cooked and asks me to eat 
'em, but I'd ruther have ham an' eggs. They're very good 
but too small to pick and bother with." ' 
"That's a thing that every man decides for himself; but 
if we were in camp and there were just ham and eggs enough 
for one and an equal amount of woodcock, Len, we would 
never quarrel over the division. Pole me over to that sand- 
bar, quick!" 
Fitzhugh's boats had wells in them for keeping fish 
alive. The cover formed a seat and had two holes in it 
one to drop fish through and the other to run an anchor- 
ing pole through the- bottom of the boat into the river bot- 
tom when required. Len did not know what I wanted 
but we were under way in an instant, he following the 
motion of my hand. I had seen a long, snaky-looking 
thing swimming rather laboriously toward the shallow 
and naturally wanted to know what it might be. As I 
dipped it up in the landing net it proved to be a Ne^iturns 
"mud-puppy" or "water-dog," called by Len and the lake 
fishermen a "Hzard." It was a good-sized one, about 16in. 
long, and its bright outside gills were perfect. This is the 
animal found every year and described aa "a four-legged 
fish, the like of which was never before seen." They are 
plenty in the Great Lakes, but not so common in the 
rivers. 
"Kill it, and throw it ashore for the minks or the meat- 
hawks," said Len. 
"I'll do nothing of the kind," said I, dropping it in the 
well. "I intend to eat it." 
Woodsman-like, Len made no reply to this. I had no 
idea that he believed me; he probably thought it some of 
my nonsense, but when I showed my capture to Dan and 
told him that I intended to eat it he asked if they were 
good to eat. 
"Don't know, I never ate one nor heard of them being 
eaten; they're clean feeders, that's all I know. The thing 
isn't handsome, neither is a catfish nor a lobster, yet some 
man had the courage to eat the first one and I'm going to 
eat this one." 
With an incredulous look Len said: "I'll skin it and 
dress it if you'll eat it, but I'd be hungrier 'n I ever have 
been afore I'd eat one." 
The flesh looked white, and when dressed the animal 
somewhat resembled a squirrel, except for the long, flat 
swimming tail. 
"I'll fry that thing after I fry the grayling," said Len, 
who now began to believe that the "thing'' was really to be 
eaten, "an' then I'll scour out the frying-pan so's it 'il be 
fit to cook in again," 
"Don't fear for your frying-pan, Len," said I, "this game 
is going to be roasted. Get me some wire and an ounce of 
salt pork and leave the rest to me." I cut the pork in 
strips and then into pieces lin. long and larded the animal 
by cutting the flesh and poking in the pork, then by means 
of the wires roasted it before the fire, while Len fried the 
grayling, It was good. Dan looked at me curiously as I 
tasted it, but Len was disgusted. I assured Dan that it was 
good; he ate some, to the increased disgust of Len. Dan 
also called it good, and between us we put a polish on the 
bones and then wound up on grayling. The oft-quoted 
"woods appetite" is no creation of fancy. Often I 
think of it as I come to the table in the morning and try 
to eat, as a matter of duty, for in the city I never want 
breakfast, and wonder how it was possible to be hungry 
three times a day in the woods, and such hunger that 
never brought the least criticism on the cook, further than 
to let us have it now, and plenty of it. Pompey says of 
Marc Antony: "Epicurean cooks sharpen with cloyless 
LEONARD JE'WEU'. 
sauce his appetite," but there's something in the woods 
that renders epicurean cooks and cloyless sauces super- 
fluous. 
Dan Fitzhugh's love for Len Jewell is beyond my power 
to tell. If he said it once he did a hundred times, as he 
gazed on Len's powerful form: "Look at him! He has the 
face and form of a field marshal of France! Napoleon se- 
lected his marshals from just such men," A few years 
later he wrote me: "Come up and fish with us again. Old 
Len has forgiven you for eating a lizard and wants to hear 
some more of your yarns; he likes 'em, for vou know he's 
not much of a liar himself, and often asks when you are 
coming up. The dear old fellow! he looks more like a field 
marshal every day. How I would like to dress him up as 
one and have his picture!" 
In this connection I will say: The photo here presented 
was hunted up for this occasion by Mr. E. A. Cooley, of 
Bay City, Mich., a warm friend and companion of Dan and 
Len, who inclosed the photo in a letter last fall, and said: 
"It's old Len plainly enough, but a little more sleek and 
well-groomed than we usually saw him, still it is a good 
picture. I would have preferred one as we usually saw 
him in camp, but I think this is the only one now in exist- 
ence." As I look on this picture and on that of Alvah Dun- 
ning there seems to be a family resemblance. Is there a 
type of man who by nature is forced to live as a woods- 
man, or does the hfe of a woodsman form the type? 
Len was a single man; if he had ever married no one 
knew it, for he would never talk of himself. He had trav- 
eled over the pine lands for lumbermen and the hardwood 
lands for prospective settlers, and knew all about what 
every square mile of northern Mchigan was worth, for 
either lumbering or farming— the pine lands being worth- 
less after the timber, was cut, because the soil was too 
sandy for cultivation, and it never grew a new crop of 
white pine. This was Len's business as a land-looker, and 
with his axe and a load of provisions on his back he re- 
mained in the forests for many weeks, adding to his com- 
missary by his gun or his fish lines. Self-reliant, he lived 
in the woods for months without a base of supplies or a 
place of abode. An approaching storm was noted in time 
to find a hollow tree, and the brooks furnished fish at all 
times. His knowledge gained in such a summer campaign 
was his capital, but in his old age he preferred the lighter 
service that Dan Fitzhugh desired, and so it came about 
that the giant woodsman and the sportsman entered into 
a partnership where there was no balancing of books. 
If Len Jewell ever drank anything sti-onger than coffee 
I never knew it, and can't, at this late day, remember that 
he ever smoked; but no man is free from "habits" of some 
kind, and Len, so Dan told me, blew in a good part of his 
earnings in a game that is called "poker," where they say 
three or four jacks can overpower two or three kings or 
queens. It must be an anarchist sort of game that 
wouldn't work in Europe, but perhaps Len was working 
for the restoration of the empire and the realization of 
Dan's dream that he should be a field marshal. 
A letter from Mr. Fitzhugh in 1877, says: "Come up next 
year and try the Manistee. Frank, Babbit and Len were 
in my oflBice yesterday, and other friends dropped in; they 
all want you to come up again. All spoke well of you ex- 
cept Len, who holds a grudge against you for eating that 
'lizard.' He said: 'A man that'll eat a thing like that when 
there's good, Christian grub in camp, and plenty of it, i* 
wrong in his mind, and liable to do something that yoa 
don't expect.' If you ate that thing, as I did, to horrify 
Len, you succeeded, but he doesn't blame me in the least. 
I read him your kind letter and he sends his love. He is 
very well, and looks more Uke a French field marshal 
every day. In full uniform he would shine as a handsome 
man, but perhaps my love for him makes me partial." 
When we went on our third trip the object was pure 
sport, untempered by fishculture, as it was late in Septem- 
ber; and then I saw my error in saying that a grayling 
never leajped from the water; but the statement is on 
record against me in the book, "Fishing with the Fly," and 
may be quoted by others. Len shook hands cordially, 
and his honest face lighted up in a manner that showed 
that my ichthyophagic idiosyncrasies had subsided into ' 
innocuous desuetude, only Len would have reduced this 
proposition to its lowest terms and it would have come 
out with the same meaning. For the third time Dan put 
Len in charge of my fortunes, while Archie Babbit, of 
Grayling, looked after him. Dan was not well, his old 
enemy, gout, had assailed him, but seemed to be with- 
drawing its forces, and he thought he could stand the trip. 
On the way down the Au Sable, which, by the way, is 
always given the French pronunciation of "Aw Sawble," 
with accent on the "Saw"; I asked Len about his carrying 
Dan on his back for twenty miles through the woods once 
when gout had attacked him on the river, and he said: 
"Yes, Dan took sick and I had to get him out of the 
woods; the river was high and I couldn't pole him up 
less'n two days, so I took him on my back to the railroad 
and went down to Bay City with him, and then came 
back and brought the boats and camp up to Grayling, 
What else could I do?" ^ 
The giant woodsman spoke of it as one would speak of 
a day's work that was a trifle harder than usual— but just 
give it a thought. Dan Fitzhugh was a well-fed man of 
perhaps 1601bs., I am guessing at this and may be 301bs. 
short; but Len Jewell took him on his back through a 
wilderness where there was no trail, over logs and under 
fallen trees, until he laid him down in Hartwick's Hotel, at 
Grayling. The daily pay of a guide does not include such 
service, and it was a feat that not one guide in 1,000 
could perform, if he were inclined to try it. If I sketched 
Dan Fitzhugh correctly in my last article, you will know 
why his relations with his guide were not at all mercenary, 
and if the sketch of Len Jewell is complete I'll leave you 
to think it out, it's beyond my pencil to explain. 
We took many grayling, but a fishing story is not in- 
tended further than to say that in the fall the yellow- 
bodied flies, like the oak-fly, did not seem to be such 
favorites, but the grayling seemed to prefer the brown ant, 
red spinner and cowdung, while I took several on that fly 
so abused by those who contend that a fly should repre- 
sent some living thing, a red ibis. Frank Endicott, Dan 
Fitzhugh, Wakeman Holberton, Charles Hallock and 
other anglers have reviled this fly because it has no living 
representative, and have more or less gently deprecated ' 
its use. The _ fly will take trout, at times, and on that 
account I use it. Gentlemen, what more do you require of 
an artificial fly? 
The patches of scrub oaks which had sprung up where 
the pines had been cut, or where fire had killed them, 
were turning red and yellow; and some distance back 
from the river was a tract of hard woods which Len 
directed me to as I went forth with a gun for rufied grouse, 
or "partrige," as Len called them. I brought in four and 
saw three deer, and was tempted to take the rifle next day 
and get some venison for camp, a meat that was always a 
favorite, and is to-day. 
Len was a rheumatic, Dan was gouty, and they were 
content to fish. I had not killed a deer since my trapping 
days with Antoine Gardapee in the early -SO's, and after a 
few sighting shots sallied forth to renew an acquaintance 
with deer stalking, which I once thought to be a grand 
sport; but also with the idea of varying the camp menu, 
which was good enough as it was, but no matter how good 
any fodder is a change is always welcome. The grouse 
was a treat, although we had a change of food every day; 
and a prospect of venison was also a treat, even if none was 
to be had. The day was young. The sun was at my back, 
and for an hour I kept my shadow in front, making 
for the spot where the deer had been seen. The country 
was roUing, but so wooded that no prominent land-marks 
could be seen, and in the absence of a compass my shadow 
was the only thing to rely on for direction. No ftesh deer 
tracks were seen. Noon came, and by a little spring I ate 
the whole of a roast partridge, half a loaf of bread, some 
corned beef and baked beans, rations for an entire day at 
one feed. 
Several grouse, a raccoon and some fox-squirrels ofiered 
shots in a tempting w-ay, but I let them pass. I could not 
find a deer, nor a track fresh enough to follow, I was 
tired, and a dry pine log oflTered a seat, and it was accepted. 
The day was quite warm and I may have dozed, but after 
a while something awakened the dozer from his semi-: 
hypnotic state, and there was a deer leisurely walking 
along, not 50yds. away to the windward. As the rifle spoke 
the deer dropped, and the mighty hunter whose game 
found hind rushed in, reloading as he went. It was a doe, 
and both fore-shoulders were broken, and she looked at 
me. That look haunts me to-day. Two great pleading 
eyes, with tears in them. Yes, tears; I'll swear to them, 
although all the hunters and scientists in the world say that 
only man sheds tears. If it is impossible for a deer to 
shed tears, then the ghost of that doe shed them for years 
afterward. I'm telling this story, and I say that doe looked 
at me with tears in her eyes. ./Esop's fable of the boys 
and the frogs came up. 
I felt guilty, but in mercy there was only one thing to do. 
If I could have put that animal on its legs there and then, 
there would have been no venison in camp. The day was 
passing; soon my shadow would be gone; but as the sun 
went down a star in the south came out, and by keeping 
