Sept. 24, 1898.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
247 
Proprietors of fishing resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
them in Forest and Stream. 
Where to go. 
One important, useful and considerable part of the Forest and 
Stream's service to the sportsmen's community is the information 
given inquirers for shooting and fishing resorts. We make it our 
business to know where to send the sportsman for large or small 
game, or in quest of his favorite fish, and this knowledge is freely 
imparted on request. 
On the other hand, we are constantly seeking information of this 
character for the benefit of our patrons, and we invite sportsmen, 
hotel proprietors and others to communicate to us whatever may be 
of advantage to the sportsman tourist. 
In the Louisiana Lowlands. 
BY FRED MATHER. ' 
A trip by boat down the Red River from Shreveport 
to Alexandria in the fall of the year is a most pleasant 
one. The air-line distance is about 100 miles, but the 
river is very crooked, and the bends make at least half 
as many miles more. There was a sameness to the 
wooded banks and a lack of hills or bluffs to vary the 
scenery, but there was life and incident on the trip 
which made it a memorable one. Over twenty-five years 
have passed into history since that journey, but the 
'stern-wheel steamer "Natchitoches," her crew of roust- 
abouts and her passengers are as fresh in memory as if 
the trip were only a week old. A blessed thing is a good 
memory; it retains only the best part of our lives, or so 
tints and gilds the other portions, seen through the haze 
of distance, that they seem to belong with out most en- 
joyable experiences. A note book is like a photograph, 
it records disagreeable things as well as pleasant ones; 
things which memory does not retain. As an instance of 
this my note book says: "The mosquitoes were of large 
size, great subcutaneous penetration, and in vast num- 
bers. I was nearly wild from their persecutions." 
'Memory has no such record, but thinks there might have 
been a mosquito or two, but they were not the most im- 
portant things on the trip. 
Joe"; "Cut his throat, seben," and other things which 
I did not understand. My mentor informed me that 
any number of players can shoot craps. Before the 
first player shoots the dice he calls out his bet, say a 
nickel. 
"He throws for a nickel, what does the other fellow 
mean by T fade you?' " 
"He means dat he takes de bet, an' den de oders dey 
bets awn de side. If he frows seben o' 'leben fust, he 
wins, but he craps out if he frows 2, 3 or 12 on de fust, 
'an de nex' man frows. But if he frows 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 or 
10, he makes his p'int an' can frow ag'in an' make hees 
p'int once mo' o' make seben, den he wins, but if 
seben come fust, befo' he makes hees p'int, he loses, den 
de oder man frows." 
"Why does the new shooter blow on the dice before 
he throws?" 
"Dattah's to blow any hoodoo dat de yallah fellaw put 
awn de dice, fo' dem cream-cullahed nigs is up to dat, an' 
so's dat tall man who's de cullah o' gingah cakes. Yo' 
see de boys is 'spicious o' some w'ats got too light 
complected faces." 
"What did that black fellow mean by calling, 'Come, 
little Jo'?" 
"'Little Jo' is fou', maybe two 2s, o' a 3 an' i-j dey 
nebbah call de numbahs, 'cept seben an' 'leben. deys 
got names fo' 'em; five is 'fever,' six is 'Jimmy Hicks,' 
nine is 'Liz,' an' ten is 'big Dick.' " 
As my quarter passed into the hand of my preceptor 
he pushed into the ring and slapped it down, crying 
"I fade you." Then I watched the game with interest, 
knowing its points and its "language." A new shooter 
calling. "Come seben — 'leben," snapping his fingers as 
he throws the dice, is answered by a man who has 
"faded" him by: "Cut his throat, seben," and so the 
games goes on. It's a queer game and has invaded the 
North. I do not gamble in any way, and firmly decline 
to bet on any event, but there is something in this semi- 
barbaric game that temps me to stop on Spruce street 
and watch it in progress on the pavement, especially as 
there are pickets out at Nassau street, and below, who 
signal the coming of the "cop," for the police have orders 
to arrest crap-shooters, but never attempt a foot race 
with the fleet-footed street Arab, who, by the way, is 
usually white, but may be Hibernian, Teutonic, or of 
that numerous Latin race which is generically classed as 
"Dago" in New York. 
A Bear. 
We left Shreveport early in the afternoon, or "even- 
ing," as it is called in the South. There was no brain- 
racking "time table"; the steamer arrived at her con- 
venience, discharged freight and passengers, took on 
more, and left when ready. There was no rush of pas- 
sengers when the gang-plank was hauled in, for they had 
been at the landing hours before, looking up river for 
the smoke of the steamer. In going down stream all 
these craft "round to" and head to the current, a curious 
move to a "Yank," who had seen the big side-wheelers 
of the Hudson come to dock headed the way they were 
going, but here were no docks and no side-wheelers. A 
sloping levee paved with stones like a street to accommo- 
date freshets and flat-bottomed boats was a necessity, 
and the result of the conditions of navigation on those 
streams. 
A seat on the upper deck, forward, was cool; there 
were no mosquitoes, and I remarked to an elderly gentle- 
man on my left that the evening was a most delightful 
one. His curt response sufficed and I remembered that 
I belonged to a class not popular in the South at that 
time, and that my speech betrayed me. Silence fol- 
lowed. The silence was large and expansive, and spread 
out over the landscape, broken only by the puff of the 
steamer and the plash of her wheel. Then the pilot 
tooted the whistle, and instead of a steamer we could 
barely see something moving in the water half a mile 
away". It might be a man, a doe or a bear. The steamer 
slowed down, and rifles were brought out. Soon it was 
decided that it was a bear, and the shooting began. 
It was wild; a moving target from a moving boat is a 
combination calculated to disconcert the aim of any 
marksman, and we came near the bear before it was 
family struck. I had gone to the lower deck, and, be- 
fore a boat was lowered, saw a gird of perhaps ten years 
lose her balance and fall overboard. Throwing off coat 
and vest I dove in and held her up until the boat picked 
us both up before the bear was taken in, for it was fat 
and still struggling, but was killed at once. 
While shaking off the water and starting for my room 
my hand was grasped by the, old gentleman whom I 
had tried to engage in conversation on the upper deck. 
Said he: "I will ask you to come to my room and 
partake of that truly Southern drink, peach and honey." 
A long talk with the old gentleman and a story or two 
ended in a promise to visit' him at his plantation near 
Alexandria after I had spent a week fishing on Cata- 
houla Lake, by which time his family would be home 
and we would have some shooting together. The 
promise was renewed when we left the steamer. 
Night on a Red River Steamer, 
I was familiar with night scenes on the big Mississippi 
steamers, the rounding to at a wood pile, the flaming 
cressets that lighted the gang-plank and the ftiett, and 
threw weird shadows into the forest; the bullying of the 
profane mates and the rushing of the men with man}^ 
sticks of cordwood on one shoulder, and all that; the 
professional gamblers in the cabins, which were 
abolished later, but now I struck a new game— new to 
me then, but now common enough among the gamins 
of New York, and it was interesting. It was called 
"craps," and they "shoot," not "pla3r," the game. Two 
dice are used, and they are "shot" from the hand. The 
points of interest to me were the terms used; and a 
quarter to a darky who was longing to get in, but had 
no stake, was invested in extending my vocabulary. 
As it was an original Southern darky game, I mastered 
the lingo, but doubt if I could do as much with the 
"guff of gawf," as the jargon of the new Scotch game is 
called, for before one attempts to play golf he, or she, 
must learn to call it "gawf." 
I saw excited darkies calling* out; "Came seben — 
'leben"; "Fade you"; "Big Dick is mine"; "Come, little. 
In the Louisiana Lowlands. 
The moon was about full and some two hours high 
after I had become a past master in the mystery of crap- 
shooting, and was longing for a new sensation, not that 
the Southern negro is not now a field for character 
study, but he was more so then. It is a fact that few 
Southern men really see the peculiar features of the 
darky; they were brought up with them, and naturally 
accept their idiosyncrasies as a matter of course, but the 
"foreigner" from the "Nawth" catches the salient points 
at a glance. To him it is the revelation of new life, of a 
people hitherto unknown to him. Hence the popularity 
of "negro minstrels" from 1845 until after the Civil War. 
Tastes change, and the "minstrels" changed, until their 
songs no longer bore the slightest relation to the black- 
ened faces. 
As I went up into the saloon I heard a banjo, and 
before the last step was reached I knew that no Southern 
darky was manipulating it. I claim to be an authority on 
the history of the banjo, and will here assert that the 
Southern darky, in i860, hardly knew the instrument; 
his favorite was a fiddle, and he inherited his like for 
it from his ancestors. 
I was not surprised when I saw a young white man 
at the end of the saloon just winding up an obligato and 
retiring for a rest. But he was vociferously recalled and 
"The Lowlands" was demanded. The air was a singu- 
lar one, with a refrain that began slowly and ended 
fast; it was: 
"Tn the Louisiana lowlands, lowlands, lowlands, 
In the Louisiana lowlands, low." 
And from this song the title of this sketch was chosen. 
It was a trifling darky song, not worth recording, but 
being well sung made an impression. 
A Big Catfish. 
The morning was well advanced when we tied up to 
the levee at Alexandria. Col. B., the old -entleman l>e ? 
ferred to, directed me to the best house in the little 
place, and reminding me of my promise, departed in 
his carriage. After dinner I strolled down to the de- 
serted levee and found an aged colored man sitting idly 
on the stones gazing at the water. "Uncle," said I, for 
that is a common Southern salutation to men of his^age 
and complexion, "are there many fish in the river?" I 
knew that many kinds of fish literally swarmed there, but 
it was an introduction. 
"Yas sah, dey's a plenty o' fish, big an' little; some- 
times I likes de little ones an' sometimes de big ones. 
I'se tryin' to cotch a big one this ebenin', but I dunno 
if he come. I'se been fishin' all de mawnin', but don' 
got no bite to-day." _ 
There was no rod nor line in sight, and 1 wondered 
how he could be fishing, but asked no question. The 
only thing in sight was the "heaving line" of a steamer 
which was fast to a snubbing post, with the other end 
in the water, a hempen line of half-inch diameter, used 
to heave ashore to draw out a cable. The old man 
yawned and lay back on the stones, as much as to say, 
"the interview has ended"; and I walked off to where 
some boys were catching perch, crappies and other small 
fish, which were biting lively. I asked the boys what 
the 'old man was fishing with, and one said : "He's a- 
fishing fo' big cats wid a pound o' po'k, but he s 
mean an' hunts us off de levee w'en he's fishin', but we 
don' 'sturb him. I 'spec' he didn' talk to yo', but if yo 
want him to talk jes give him a ftp fo' some gin an he 
talk yo' ears off." 
On this hint I returned to the lone fisherman and 
said: "Uncle, it's dry work waiting all day for a bite, 
here's a dime, go up to the grocery and treat yourself. 
I'll look after the fishing if you'll show me where ypur 
line is,'* - - 
"Thank you, sah,'-' touching what had once been a 
hat, "I knowed you was a ge'man w'eri I see yo' comin' 
along de levee. Yes, sah, I'll drink yo' health, dattah's 
my fishline," pointing to the heaving line, "but I 'spec's 
I'll be back befo' a big catty comes along." And he 
limped off to the grocery. Then I began to fear that I 
had been too liberal, and that a dime, which he called a 
"levvy," might purchase more juniper juice than lie 
could assimilate without producing vertigo, and rejoiced 
that my first impulse to give him a quarter, or "two bits," 
as he would call it, was restrained. A half-hour passed 
and "Time, which strengthens friendship, but weakens 
love," began to be a burden. I was about to desert my 
post when my new friend appeared above the levee 
none the worse for his indulgence, but rather better so 
far as the limp was concerned. He hurried down, ex- 
claiming: "I dun 'spect I got one," and made for the 
line. I had not noticed the strain on it and the weaving 
motion until he spoke, for I had been watching a little 
dab-chick dive, and then guessing where it would come 
The old man tugged on the line with all his might, and 
I sprang to help him, for I was stronger than he, and 
that we had a big fish was certain, the vibrations could 
only be caused by a living animal, and the resistance was 
assurance of its size. We piled up yard after yard of 
line, and at last had the fish on the slope of the levee 
with its head out of water. The old man produced a 
hatchet from somewhere and killed it with a single 
stroke. 
I had read of the great catfishes of the southern Mis- 
sissippi that weighed isolbs., and believed that we had a 
record one. I had not counted, however, on a great 
stone sinker that must have weighed 40lbs., which was 
necessary to keep the hook and bait out in the channel, 
that was credited to the fish while hauling it in, by me at 
least. 
I ran up, got a wagon and help and we brought out 
our fish. It was 3ft. 4in. long, and weighed 6,y/ 2 \bs. It 
was a record catfish for me, for a 10-pounder, taken near 
Potosi, Wis., in 1855, was my largest. No one seemed 
enthusiastic about the fish ; it was a big one, but they 
had seen as big. Uncle Sam, as they called my lone 
fisherman, sold the fish for $2.50, about 4 cents per 
pound, and with so much wealth in his possession I ex- 
pected that he would blow it all in on booze, an opinion 
based upon what the darky boys had told me, but he 
was as clear headed as ever when he called on me after 
supper. Said I: "Yo' said yo' wanted go fish in Cata- 
houla Lake, an' wanted a man an' a boat to go 'long; 
is yo' got de same min' yet?" 
"Yes, I want to go to the lake and camp there. I 
understand that the lake is about twenty miles away, but 
that we can strike a small stream that runs into it by a 
ten-mile tramp. I will furnish provisions, but I want a 
boat and a shanty to sleep in, if there is a shanty on the 
lake. I want to stay a week and then return." 
Lazy Loo. 
A bargain was made, and next morning we left 
Alexandria on a wagon drawn by one mule, and, driven 
by young Sam; there was a boat, a lot of tinned goods 
and a sack of potatoes as well as other things that come 
good in camp, when you can get them. The boat was a 
clumsy, flat-bottomed sort of a bread-tray, absolutely 
non-capsizable, non-dryable and almost non-rowable. I 
piled a lot of brush in forward and put my bag of bed- 
ding and such things as should be kept dry on top, then 
seating myself in 'the stern with a tin dish for a bailer 
we Started off. The stream was narrow and crooked for 
a few miles, and kept one busy dodging the low grow- 
ing branches. All went well until we came to a tree 
that had fallen across the stream. It was about 2ft. in 
diameter, and its lower side' was below the surface of 
the water in places, and some inches above it in others. 
The limbs, roots and bark all said that it had been there 
for several years, yet no man had cut it to make a 
passage for his boat, as any Northern woodsman would 
have done. 
I looked at the log and at the shore; then at the heavy 
old ark we were in, and I mentally vowed that I'd be 
ding-swizzled if I would help to lift such a water- 
logged old tub over that log, or to make a portage with 
it around either end. I was paying for my passage and 
would assert my rights, if we never reached the lake. 
After I had worked up my feelings to the exploding 
point, Sam laid the boat alongside the log and began 
piling our freight on it. I sat still while he did it, the 
mercury in my madometer climbing higher every min- 
ute. Just let him propose that I dislocate my spine in 
lifting that thing he called a boat over that log. Yes, 
there was water enough there to drown him — but I must 
not think of that; a tongue-lashing would be all the 
punishment necessary, and I had tht opening sentence 
formulated just as he put the last of my plunder on 
the log and said: "Ef vo'll jess step on dattah lawg I'll 
dun get de boat a-pas'." 1 1 
The mercury in the madometer ceased to climb as I 
stepped on the "lawg" and wondered how that old man 
could get the boat beyond it. He removed his shoes, 
turned the boat head to the log and pulled a plug in the 
bottom. He had chosen a place where the log was some 
4in. above the water, and as the boat sank he stood in 
the bow, worked it under the log and walked back until 
all was clear. Then replacing the plug he bailed out 
the boat. The mercury had dropped out of sight. We 
loaded up and a gum coat on my seat was all that was 
needed to restore the status quo. I thought I knew a 
trick or two in running streams with a boat, but now I 
had learned another from a poor old darky, and might 
truthfully say that I knew a trick or three. 
I just hugged myself when I reflected that 'old Sam 
never suspected that I had hated him for half an hour. 
I wanted to apologize to him, but that would never do. 
so I said: "Sam, you went under that tree in good 
shape; never took off any paint from the—. What's the 
name of this boat, anyway?" 
"Well, sah, she don' got no name painted awn her, 
but we calls her Lazy Lou, dat's fo' one o' my gals, she 
was married las' week, an' was too lazy to comb her 
haih, so she jes' cuts it froo wiv a scissor; We alius 
call her Lazy Lou, 'cause w'en she wasn' mo'n ten yahs 
ole she was so lazy she let; de skeeters bite fo' she bresh 
'em off." 
