Jan. 27, igoo.| 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
71 
and handling a large pickerel at the same time don't go 
well together. 
We rowed up Dead Creek, past Indian Point, and 
after spying out a bunch of beautiful wood ducks went 
back and crossed Missisquoi Flats and entered Missisquoi 
River by its east branch, and just here was where the 
mudfish shooting was attempted. The writer stood on 
the short piece of decking at the bow of, the boat in 
stocking feet watching for fish — a position he had oc- 
cupied all the way across the flats, despite Charlie's 
efforts to dislodge him by sudden jerks and turns of the 
boat with the oars. I asked Charlie to stop the boat 
quick and bis clock too. Just a few feet ahead on 
our left I saw a dozen or more mudfish bunched quite 
close together, and apparently not over 6 or 8 inches under 
water. We moved up opposite them without disturbing 
them in the least, and when in just the right position, I 
let go one barrel of a lo-gauge Remington charged 
with 4drms. of Hazard's best ducking powder and i}i 
ounces chilled shot, straight at the largest fish in the 
middle of the bunch. You can imagine there was con- 
siderable commotion in the water, firing into it at an 
angle of about 40 degrees out of a skiflf. Of course I 
supposed I must have killed every one of those fish, but 
strange to say, not one turned up in the proper fashion 
and all had disappeared from sight when the smoke 
cleared away. Charlie Deuel looked over his shoulder 
at me with a most knowing expression and let out a 
disgusted grmU; but no word was spoken, and the boat 
moved slowly forward. We had not gone more than 
100 feet,I should think, when on the other side of the 
boat I saw another and larger bunch of mudfish. When 
almost over them I fired both barrels in quick succession, 
with the same result as before, only we got somewhat 
wet from the flying water. This last effort and failure 
proved too much for Charlie; he let out a howl that 
echoed and re-echoed through the woods on the river 
banks: "You are a dandy, Jim, with a gun, and what a 
shame to miss those mudfish, when blind Nurry likes 
them so well to eat. You shoot over all the time." 
"All right, Charlie," I said, "if we run across any more 
mudfish, you can try your hand at them." 
We saw the fish, and Charlie rose from the rowing seat, 
and, turning half-way round, pulled oft" one barrel of his 
old muzzleloader. The concussion sent oflf the other 
barrel, and such a roar and flying of water! and at the 
same instant Charlie went over the side of the boat back- 
ward. The gun, flying out of his hands, went to the 
bottom of the river in 6 feet of water, and poor Charlie 
disappeared from sight, the soles of his shoes being the 
last we saw of him. I said to William, "You have lost 
a son-in-law and blind Nurry will not have a mudfish 
breakfast." Charlie soon came to the surfice and was 
pulled into the boat, but had to go overboard and dive 
for his gun. He located it, muzzle down, and buried a 
foot in the mud. Charlie did not even inquire what had 
become of the mudfish. If he had we could not have 
told him for several reasons. 
For the next half hour, with William at the oars and 
Charlie wringing the water out of his clothes, we moved 
up stream, and out at the west branch of the river, head- 
ing for Hog Island and Charcoal Creek. 
Now, Charlie Deuel has a full beard, and it is long 
and bushy, his eyebrows are heavy, and with eyes set 
in his head, and very black; an old felt hat, always worn 
deep in his head and very black, an old felt hat, always 
well down over his face, he is a doubtful proposition 
sometimes. William and I both felt it Avas an occasion 
when silence was life itself, but when we had finally made 
a landing on Hog Island shore, and got well up the bank 
aAvay from Charlie, we let out our feeling. Charlie said 
he would cook the dinner and row home if there Avas not 
wind enough, but would brain the first man that said 
mudfish.* With the fish we had caught, a piece of salt 
pork, potatoes that had been boiled before we left the 
village, and other fixings, Charlie cooked a meal, such 
as all lovers of outdoor life only can appreciate. After 
dinner and a smoke, we ran up Charcoal Creek about a 
mile and caught, trolling with a spoon bait, two large mud- 
fish, and we lost two, one running into the weeds and 
freeing himself by breaking a line. While these fish are 
not gamy, they arc very powerful, and it frequently re- 
quires good judgment and strong tackle to land them. 
Charlie Deuel rowed most of the six miles home 
witliout complaint, a smart breeze helping us in near the 
end of the trip. Blind Nurry had a mudfish breakfast 
next morning, and time has smoothed the way so much 
that it is safe now to say. mudfish to Charlie Deuel. 
I am wondering if any person of the many readers of 
Forest and Stream has had experience shooting mud- 
fish. Why do these fish turn over and come to the sur- 
face, as expected, when fired at from but a few feet dis- 
tant, and when they are so near the surface of the 
water? 
Let me add in conclusion that Missisquoi Bay, on 
northern Lake Champlain, with its surrounding hills, 
woods and marshes, is a desirable place to spend a week 
or two in the summer season. RoMEO. 
Deep-Sea Fishes. 
Washington, D. C. — The fishes collected by the U. S. 
Fish Commission steamer Albatross, in her explorations 
ofY the west coasts of Mexico, Central and South Amer- 
ica, and off the Galapagos Islands, during the year 1891, 
form an important Memoir of the Museum of Compara- 
tive Zoology, Vol. XXIV., Cambridge, Mass., December, 
1899. Lt-Commander Z. L. Tanner was in command of 
the steamer, and Mr. A. Agassiz in charge of the scientific 
work. The report on the fishes was prepared by Profes- 
sor Samuel Carman, and comprises two 4to volumes, text 
of 431 pages, and plates 97, 13 of which are colored. The 
work by Messrs. Westergen, delineator, and Meisel, litho- 
grapher, was especiallj' well executed. The report notices 
thirty-three families of fishes, represented by one hundred 
genera, or one hundred and eighty species, 85 per cent, of 
which Professor Garman describes as new to science. 
The deep-water froms were taken in. depths ranging from 
100 to 2,232 fathoms. 
This work is a most important addition to the literature 
on deep-sea fishes, and much is due Professor Agassiz 
for his untiring energy and great liberality in giving to 
the world such bountiful results of what to him is but 
g- ' ' - B. A. Bean, 
A True Fish Story, 
For six seemingly short weeks had our family of six 
and grandfather enjoyed the varied scenery, mineral 
waters and excellent fishing offered by Lake Minnewaska 
and surrounding country of Glenwood, Pope county, 
Minn. But August would soon be torn from the calen- 
dar, when we must break camp to begin a 250-mile jour- 
ney by team to our home in Iowa. 
Earth already wore a tinge of fading summer. A stiff, 
chilling northwesterner to-day furrowed deep the bosom 
of the lake and mged on the ragged clouds, which gen- 
erally dimmed the sun. Those lounging about the Porter 
boat house this morning wore their coats tightly but- 
toned and hats shoved down to their ears. 
"Hi reckon yours is the only boat a-goin* out to-day," 
said a fisherman, sauntering up, known about the neigh- 
borhood as the Englishman. Maybe, but we doubted nor 
the seaworthiness of our little craft. Last sunset we had 
shaken hands on a fishing trip, and plans for a day's out- 
ing are not easily thwarted. 
All are soon aboard, anchor is weighed, and the Silver 
Spray dances free with her light cargo — a pailful of bread 
and butter, rod and tackle, sundry articles — and her 
crew of eight — Len, Ben, Ernest and Charley, residents 
of the place, and Grandpa, Father, Brother Homer and I. 
"Duck your heads!" exclaimed Len, our captain, as the 
sail is hoisted, and the boom swings around. Too late; a 
pair of straw hats are riding the waves. Ernest leaps into 
one of the two row boats hitched behind and captures the 
hats. Some one remarks that caps ought to be worn when 
sailing. The Canvas fills and we are off for Lawrence 
Point, seven miles to the southwest. 
Whitecaps are now rolling, the sail is drawn more into 
the wind, and our little craft turns on her side as she 
furrows the 5-foot waves, which occasionally leap over 
the deck, sending a shower of spray upon us. "How deep 
here.'"' some one interrogates. " 'Bout a hundred feet or 
more," responds the Captain. The boat soon veers more 
to the east to escape the sand bar, this season hid by 
higher water. Several minutes hence we drop anchor half 
a pebble's cast east of the Point, where the sounding line 
shows a depth of 16 feet — about right for pike to-day. 
Having passed the bucket of frogs around, we each 
drop a line, but have no response. Thoughtlessly, the 
bait is given a somewhat alluring jiggle while our eyes 
wander over the scenery. For the first time, we now be- 
hold the loAver portion of the lake, as it here bends inore 
to the AA'est. Lawrence Point is picturesque. HeaA^y ash 
and elm timber skirts the shore, and overhangs the 
water's edge, shading huge and rugged granite boulders, 
against which the 6-foot breakers Avith loud grumbling 
spend their force in foam and mist. The Silver Spray, as 
she recklessly frolics with the Avaves, threatents to part 
her cable, and, with them, break upon the rocks. Occa- 
sionally a tern or a Avhite seagull, circling about, dips her 
Aving in the Avave, gives a pinion performance, momen- 
tarily breasts the Avind, Avheels, and — Hush! 
I had a bite! An anxious moment, a nibble, a jerk, and 
at last our lines are ansAvered in person, CAddenced by the 
4-pound pike that lashes the floor. Ere long several more 
keep him company. Occasionally a gamy perch gets a 
frog in his throat. Less often the reel sings to the lively 
tune of a black bass. But look! Len has surely hooked 
the prize of the day. See the silk play out as the fish 
makes a rush, now to the bottom, under the boat, off to 
sea, back again, now less lively. Reel him in. "Only a 
snake." says Len; "hand me the net. "We have forgot- 
ten it." So on to the deck he lifts by the Hne a monster 
pickerel. A flop, a splash, a broken line and the same 
old story — the biggest fish has gotten aAvay. For half an 
hour the sport continues. How small every catch noAv 
seems, compared Avith that lost beauty. 
But Len has hooked another big one. A few spurts 
and an 8-pound pickerel drops unaided from the hook, 
safely on the floor. In the corner of its mouth Len finds 
fastened his hook and piece of line, proving it the fish 
he had lost half an hour before at the other end of the 
boat. 
Having caught 104 fish, it is now suggested that Ave go 
ashore for dinner, and wait until the wind somewhat 
abates before setting sail for home. All agree. The row 
boats buck hard and receive many hard bumps by the 
lunging of the big boat as we attempt to transfer. With 
difficulty we finally tumble ourselves and our "traps" 
promiscuously into them. After a hard pull over "6-foot- 
ers" we reach the lecAvard shore of the Point. 
We all feel pretty damp as Ave scramble out upon the 
slippery stones. Len and Ernest make off through the 
woods to raid the nearest farm house, while we build a 
rousing, cheerful fire. They soon return with a dark loaf 
of untempting bread, a can of soft butter and an armful of 
green corn. "Best we could do; good enough when you 
are camping out," says Ernest. On the spot were found 
potatoes and a bottle of beer left by preA'ious campers. 
We also cleaned a few of our smaller fish. But we had no 
cooking utensils, So to make this raw material palatable 
we attempted to put to practical use all the Indian and 
Robinson Crusoe customs Ave had read about — roasting 
on spits, rolling them in clay and baking in the coals, and 
the like. After an hour's preparation dinner is ready. 
Seated upon the grass we break the loaA'cs and fishes. All 
are filled, and of the fragments there remain tAvelve bas- 
ketsful— corn husks, cobs, fish skins and potato peelings. 
"The mink and coons will hold high revel here to-night," 
says Ben, after viewing the littered ground, and they un- 
doubtedly did, for they Avere quite numerous about the 
lake. Until 3 o'clock "the time is spent in telling stories 
and cracking jokes and English AA'alnuts. 
It is noAv time to start for home, and the Avind, instead 
of going down, now bloAvs a perfect gale. Wet and pant- 
ing, AA-e reach the sail boat. The old sail is reefed to its 
smallest, but it has seen its best days. In a moment it is 
rent in several places. The center-board refuses to be 
driven further than half way doAvn. A whooping billoAv 
carries us Avithin a rod of the rocks, and but for the 
timely use of the long oar she would certainly have shat- 
tered her hull. 
At last the sail, in spite of her tattered condition, catches 
the breeze, and Ave are off to sea. But in our disabled 
condition tack we could not before such a gale. Steadily 
Ave drift to the southeast, a direction hardly angling to a 
dangerous trough. Foam-crested waves continuously run 
over the deck. Several pails of water are bailed from the 
hull. 
But though our case looked rather hopeless, we all kept 
up our courage; though, to be honest, it is not the most 
pleasant feeling that creeps over a boy "land lubber" when 
he learns he is over water twenty-five fathoms deep, Ihere 
to have the boat lifted helplessly sideways high uoon a 
billow, then dropped into the trough, the next foam- 
capped wave to leap over the deck and break against the 
loAV guuAvale, dropping a pail of spray upon the floor, or, 
more often, upon your back. 
The sun, now a ball of lurid crimson, hung low in the 
mottled west. Would darkness overtake us before avc 
drifted ashore? In the southwest ominous clouds and an 
angry flash of lightning gave evidence of a storm steadily 
arising against the heavy wind. 
By dusk we near the southeast shore, about two miles 
beloAV Benson Beach. Considering it useless to longer 
stay by the sail boat, Ave anchor her and roAV everything 
ashore What a sense of relief again to feel the earth 
beneath our feet, as we look back upon that wild boiling 
bit of sea Avhere for four hours Ave have been helplessly 
tossed about, a lowering sky now lending awfulness to 
the scene. 
But troubles never come single-handed, you know 
Here we were ten miles from tOAvn and camp with "traps" 
and 150 pounds of fish, darkness a few minutes apace 
with promise of a terrible storm. Grandfather immedi- 
ately sets out through brush and fields to find the main 
road, distant two miles. Ben, Ernest and Homer visit 
three farm houses, all in tlie neighborhood, in search of a 
team to take us to toAvn. They return unsuccessful Dol- 
lars seemed a small inducement for to leave the hearth 
on such a night. 
There is now no choice as to Avhat shall be done. One 
row boat IS drawn high up on the beach, the fish are put 
in the other. Two of us, with the two pairs of oars, must 
take the latter one and folloAv horaeAvard the leeward 
shore, where the water Avas possibly less rough— and an 
eight-mile pull over rough Avater, against a heavy wind, is 
no easy task. Ben and Ernest take the boat, the rest of 
us preferring to walk. 
At a "horse-walk" gait through hazel thickets, stubble 
patches and barbed Avire fences, we Avend our way toward 
the road. Unexpectedly running into a Scandinavian 
barnyard, the chickens, roosting in the trees, set up a 
cackling, and a big, Avolfish-looking dog lets loose of sev- 
eral startling yelps, changing into a curious trill as he 
pounds down the path to meet us. Charley shied a club at 
him and he vanished in the gloom. Hurrying on, Ave 
reach the road by dark. 
Stopping at a farm house, we inquire if an " old gen- 
tleman passed here about dusk." "Yes; one stopped and 
asked for a drink 'bout half an hour ago." "Thank you." 
How tantalizing is the aroma of the steaming coffee pot 
that tickles^our olfactories as the door closes against us. 
"Hurry up," says Ben, "for it is going to be darker than 
a merger's hair." 
The sky is noAv overcast, and as we resume our gait, 
only by an occasional flash of lightning are we able to 
keep the track through the dense timber and to dodge a 
few of the frequent puddles made by last night's storm. 
At every turn in the road, at every flash of lightning, we 
strained our optics fora glimpse of Grandfather. Surely, a 
feeble old man of seventy-five years must be overtaken at 
the rate we are walking. But possibly he had lost track 
or found lodging soraeAvhere. Anxious concerning his 
welfare, we hardly felt like keeping on. 
With terrific thunder and lightning the storm now broke 
and the rain descended in torrents. For an hour it raged 
with increasing fiuw, then settled into a steady electrical 
rain storm, Avhich lasted half the night, raising the Avater 
mark on a lake four miles by ten, 4 inches. After donning 
rain coats and spreading our umbrellas, we waded on 
through mud and Avater ankle deep. A house and barn 
at last loomed up among the trees, but we found no shel- 
ter. The folks, if any lived there. Avere abed; and the barn, 
filled with hay, offered nothing but nailed doors and drip- 
ping eaves. 
Father and I take off our shoes and roll up our pan- 
taloons. Ben, Charley and Homer, heedless of mud and 
water, wade on and soon are out of hearing. With ten- 
der feet we two trip lightly on, an occasional "Ouch!" or 
"Great Cccsar!" rupturing tlie heavy air as our big toe 
attempts to dislodge a boulder. The lightning flashes 
Avere noAV less frequent, making it hard to keep the road. 
As a consequence, father's feet forsake him and the han- 
dle is broken off mother's best silk umbrella. Pocketing 
the piece, aa'c again set out. 
A brook, SAvollen too large to fit the culvert, noAv gur- 
gles OA^er the road. Numerous others, noAV Hke moun- 
tain torrents, roar and echo doAvn their rocky, timbered 
gulches, hurrying their extra volume to the lake. 
We were now less than a mile from town, when a dim 
light flashes up ahead at a bend in the road and then dis- 
appears. As it again pops into a^cav from behind the trees 
Ave detect, above the roar of the storm, faint sounds of an 
approaching team. Who can be out so late on such a 
night? "Porters in search of us," father suggests. 
Sure enough. Len and Ernest, to our surprise, had 
reached tOAvn half an hour before us and made known our 
plight. Grandfather Avas picked up about forty rods from 
town, the others keeping on afoot. He says he prevailed 
at a cottage to stay all night, but probably discrediting his 
story, a feminine voice from an upper AvindoAV ordered 
him to begone or she Avould set the dog on him. 
By II o'clock we reached home, Avet, tired and hungry. 
Our folks had despaired of our return, for we had prom- 
ised to be back by 3 P. M. Surely, no "boat on the lake. 
CA-en though she were able to keep her bearings, could 
live near the south end on such a night. Imagine their 
thougrhts Avhen the one roAv boat, Avitli but tAvo of our 
number, at last hove within the pale light of the lantern 
hung out for our benefit. Though hardly dared they ask 
the fate of the rest, their fears Avere soon dispelled. That 
night, while attempting to appease by a midnight supper 
appetites that Avould. have shocked the cook of a boarding 
house, Ave related the incidents of one day's experience. 
Howard L. Hill. 
The Forest and Stream is put to press each week on Tuesday, 
'''orre-snondence intended for publication should reach us at th« 
u/ost ' ■'■ \fnn4ay an4 ^3 failcSi earlier as practicable. 
