8£6 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[[Dec. 24, 1904, 
For Christmas Reading. 
The Old-Fashioned Skate. 
The skating this Christmastide is fine, and Joe and I 
have spent two hours on the pond in delightful exer- 
cise. It has been a good many years since I had a skate 
on my foot, yet, save getting used to these modern ma- 
chines, I would not think it had been a year ; for the 
cunning was still there, and Joe could hardly keep pace 
with me, though I am sixty-five years old. Ah, but we 
could skate in those old days, and we had skates ! It 
seemed to-day as if I were hustling over the ice with 
nothing on my feet, so irresponsive are those things they 
now call skates. To be sure, there was a kind of dead 
weight clinging to the soles of my shoes, but nothing that 
reminded me of skates. But there was nothing on my 
foot to tie a skate to, for with the old skate has passed 
the old boot. You cannot skate in shoes. So, as Joe 
and I glided over the ice, old memories came thronging 
back thick and fast. I thought how I would like to try 
my old skates with their long, low irons turned up over 
the toes, brass thimbles on the ends, heel-strap, toe-strap, 
and strings run out of leather cut from last year's boot- 
leg. 
"What do I mean by run? I might have known you 
would not understand that word. Well, to 'run' a string, 
you took the best part of your last year's boot-leg, cut it 
into a square, stuck a pegging awl through the center, 
pinning it to a piece of board; then you stuck your jack- 
knife into the board at the edge of the leather, where, by 
turning the leather once round, you made it circular — - 
your knife must be sharp — then you started your string 
the right size, made a gauge of a bit of wood, put it 
against the edge of your knife holding the leather down 
and gauging the size of your string; then you pulled the 
awl out and, holding the gauge in the left hand, you 
pulled away on the string with your right until the old 
boot-leg was all string. Don't you remember how Dido 
cheated the Africans? She run that bull's hide into 
a string. Leather strings were better for skates because 
a bit elastic, not so unsympathetic and cold as the 'cod- 
line,' and your feet would get numb. 
"Don't know how skates were tied on? Why, you run 
this string through holes in the toe-straps, across the 
toe of your boot, passed the ends inside the heel-strap— 
that was an endless strap passing through the wood of 
your skate and round the counter of your boot — then you 
crossed the strings over the instep, passed the ends under 
the strings on the side of your boot, brought them to- 
gether and tied fast, and you knew there was something 
on your feet. 
"Why don't I get my old skates out and use them? 
"Ah, distance lends enchantment ! Illusions are sweet ! 
And when ycu run the risk of dispelling them, and, at 
best, gaining nothing instead, you would better let the 
past be past. Besides one cannot take 'gone bys' out of 
the old days in which they had their natural setting and 
not sacrifice their charm. No, my old skates are hanging 
just where I want them to hang, in the old shed loft, 
where they have hung and rusted, straps, strings and all, 
these forty-five years. I go and take them down whenever 
I visit the old home, which is seldom enough now, and 
sometimes, when no one is near, I put them on; but the 
straps and strings are brittle, and I like not to strain 
them. But, oh, what throngs of memories they bring 
back! The old brook where we boys learned to skate, the 
old river, the dear, old anxious mother, and the old 
romance of a boy's life. 
"It was on the river we had our best times, for there the 
numbers were increased, and we met our fate in the dark 
eyes, sweet face, and lone curls of a little girl a few 
years younger than .ourself, and with; whom, on frosty 
evenings, hand in hand, we glided up and down the river. 
But others met her, and skated with her also. It was 
a strife between three of us who should draw jeanie on 
his sled, or help her to skate. Bashful boys, all of us, 
yet in our awkward way we managed to> monopolize 
her." 
"Which got her?" 
"Wait and see. 
"We all met her at about the same time, and all three 
instantly became slaves. She lived on the other side of 
the river, where, winsome and bonnie. she reigned the 
belle of the district, and it was a exeat triumph for us, 
coming from afar, to win her from her own school chums, 
But nothing was too much trouble for either of us, if 
only it won the smile of Jeanie. Then we each tried to 
get ahead of the other, but never with any degree of 
success. We could hoodwink John and Foss, and all the 
rest, but not one another. 
"One clear Christmas evening, when the first twenty-one 
years had slipped away, I took my skates and hastened 
to the old trysting place on the river, and living nearest 
the skating place, reached the gravel head first, and was 
rewarded by the privilege to strap Jeanie's skates on for 
her — girl's skates were strapped on. I eagerly performed 
the task, and hurriedly, for there were other things I 
wanted to say, and the skaters were coming. So abruptly, 
almost desperately, I said : 
" 'I'm twenty-one to-day, Jeanie, and I can earn two 
dollars a day in the shipyard, and I have a house lot 
now. - Won't you be my wife? The others are coming — • 
answer quick !' 
" 'I'll tell you to-morrow.' 
"I'd got in ahead, but somehow Dan and Fred, each 
managed that same evening to get her ear for a similar ■ 
message, and received a similar answer. Now the prob- 
lem was to get in ahead to-morrow. We went home to- 
gether, Dan and Fred, and I, and on the way arranged to 
hunt rabbits in the morning, appointing the old rye field 
as the meeting place. . I thought I had them then sure, for 
while they were going to the old field I would slip across 
the river and get my answer. So, promptly at 9 o'clock, 
I was in front of her home, and just as promptly Dan and 
Fred, were there, too. It was the old result, obtained 
over and over again, each succeeded in deceiving himself, 
but neither could deceive the other. 
"gut Jeanie had promised me an answer to-day, and of 
course she would give it, only I must find the Oppor- 
tunity, and find it first. That evening we were all on 
the river again prompt as the three wise men from the 
East, and following as patiently our star. She did not 
allow any one of us to be alone with her, and neither of 
us allowed her to be alone with the other. There was no 
moon, but the stars were bright, and, though not much in 
detail, one could see fairly well. Fred, seemed to have a 
good deal of trouble getting his skates to tie right, so 
Jeanie offered to assist him. He was willing to have her 
do it. When she had finished, Dan suggested that she 
tie his, and then, of course, she must tie mine. So she 
tied them all, and then, edging away without any appar- 
ent purpose until some ten yards in advance of us, she 
suddenly darted down stream, challenging us to follow. 
We followed. It was a race for more than life. We were 
about equally matched as skaters, and neither gaining any 
advantage, we simply flew over that ice, following only 
a dim outline of flowing dress, or now a clear view of a 
flying form, gaining steadily, but as one, and likely to 
capture her at the same time, when instantly Fred., who 
had shot ahead, went sprawling on the ice, and Dan, one 
foot skateless, followed suit, while I sped on and— Caught 
her. No, I didn't; when my hand was sure of the prize 
I, too, saw a million stars flashing indescribale rays 
about me, and suddenly sat down on the ice with only one 
skate on." 
"How strange that one skate from each of your feet 
came off !" 
"We thought so for a minute, as we tied on our skates, 
or tried to, but when we got home — and we went direct 
home from the mishap— it all stood out plain. In tighten- 
ing qur skates she had half cut the strings so that in any 
extra strain they were sure to break. She made sure of 
victory before she challenged us. 
"I went home that night and hung up my skates in the 
old shed loft, and there they hang to-day. 
"Why didn't I go the next day and ask her? 
"Ah, that race was her answer. to us all!" 
Joseph Woodbury Stout. 
The Recapture of Black Jack. 
Sojourning for a season in the lowlands of Mississippi, 
1 had been for days fishing in a bayou of Pearl River. 
The sport was good and I had a fairly heavy string of 
fish, most of which had been taken early in the day, when 
a breeze was stirring, and the sun had not burned out 
enthusiasm. 
By mid-afternoon the heat had driven me to shelter 
under the shade of overhanging cypress trees, where I lay 
in the boat for several hours enjoying the perfect quiet, 
and waiting until the air cooled sufficiently to make the 
walk home pleasant. 
Finally getting under way while the sun was an hour 
or so above the_ horizon, I welcomed the sight of Uncle 
Eph's cool looking vine-covered cabin, to which I came 
shortly after leaving the shelter of the woods. 
The old man and I had first met on the bank of the 
bayou where I had found him fishing on my first trip 
there, and the acquaintance had continued and extended 
to his wife, Mandy. 
I now frequently stopped at their cabin for a rest or 
drink of water, and often carried away a bunch of sweet, 
old-fashioned flowers from their garden. 
As I drew near the old man stepped out on to the little 
porch, where he stood rubbing his head with a red 
bandana. 
"Flowdy, suh!" he shouted, upon catching sight of me. 
"Been fishin' is you? Yas, suh, an' catchin' um, too. 
Dat is a right peart string of bre'ms you is got. 
"Now, I know dat a gowd of cold' watah ain' goin' miss 
de spot wid you, an' Mandy dis lit out foh de spring as 
I come_ in 'cause I been in de gyardin fi'tin' weeds evah 
since dinnah, an' I low you know hit none too cool settin' 
in de shade of a cypress tree to-day. Come in an' set 
down, suh, an' res' a little, an' de watah be yere in less'n 
no time." 
A drink of fresh water was acceptable, and the comfort- 
able chair offered a welcome rest from the hard boat 
seat; so dropping my fish into the cool depths of a vine, 
I mounted to the shady porch, thanking the old man for 
his proffered hospitality. 
"Dat all right, suh," was his cordial response, "I is. 
proud to see you. My wuk is done, an' it good to have 
somboddy to talk wid." 
His wife now appeared with a bucket of fresh water. 
"Howdy,_suh; how is you ? I thought I hear the old man 
talkin' wid somboddy, but he do talk some time w'en dey 
ain' noboddy 'round 'tall, so I did'n know foh shuah if 
anybcddy was wid him or not. 
"Des wait a minnit en I git you a glass to drink out of; 
dis ain' nothin' but a old gowd, an' it gittin' a little 
punky besides. It ain' fitten foh you to use." 
Assuring her that I preferred the gourd to a glass, I 
persuaded her to allow me to use it, and greatly enjoyed 
the novelty and peculiar taste thereof. By some yet to be 
explained property in the gourd, when used as a drinking 
vessel, it has the power of making bad water fairly good, 
and good water better. 
After the old man had twice emptied the gourd, which 
held something over a pint, he settled back against the 
post by which he sat on the steps, with a deep sigh of 
contentment. 
"I tell you dey ain' nothin' so good as watah w'en you 
is needin' it — bring me my pipe an' tobacker, Mandy — an' 
I has seen de time w'en I would giv' all de watah 
millyuns, an' 'possums, an' taters dat wuz evah growed 
or ketched fo' dis one gowd full of watah. 
"You git hongry an' dey is so much to eat dat you kin 
scattah yo' trouble by thinkin' of fus one and den de 
yudder thing, but if you is thusty it is des watah, watah, 
an' nuthin' else. Milk, liminade, an' even licker don' 
'pear to make no 'pression on yo' min' ; it des digs away 
all de time on cold watah, an' you will resk ennything to 
git it." 
Here the old man paused to fill and light the pipe hi? 
wife had brought him, and when it was going good he 
proceeded to relate an experience to illustrate the force 
oHus observations on the moving power of a real thirst. 
"When I was in de wah wid Marse Bickneli, we was 
of'en hongry, wet s an' ti'ed, but w'en we -got in a dry 
Country, an' could'h git watah w'en we want it to drinkj 
den it 'pear'd like de real trouble had come. W'y-, suh, 
a man will fight hardah, an' take moh resks fo' a drink 
of watah dat he is wantin' bad, den he will fo' all de 
money my old mewl kin tote-. 
"Dat time we lose Black Jack Was on 'count df takih' 
chances fo' to git watah w'en We Was nlos' daid Wid de 
thust, but I done tol' you 'bout dat befo'> ain' I ? I ain' ?'" 
he exclaimed in surprise, when I shook my head, "Well, 
I will right now w'ile We is restin' an' it gitten eoel 
'nough foh you to Walk home, if you like to heah 'bout it. 
"I ain' des certain wheah we was at, wheddet in Fur- 
ginny or No'th Ca'liny, but it was in a pluhl dry laii'j ati* 
de^ summer heat had dried de springs an' wheah de cricks 
an' branches had been dey wah nothin' but a 'easionad 
mud hole: 
"It suttihgiy was de Wust of all de hawd times we had, 
caus' we was scoutin' an' lookin' to run on de Yankees 
any minnit, 'sides bein' hongry an' mos daid fo' watah. 
"One mawnin' w'en we had'n had no brexfus, an' 
pow'ful little suppah de night befo', an' de sun was 
shinin' fit to blistah de skin on a nigga's heel, Marse Bick- 
neli an' me had done gone on ahead of de yudder sojers, 
an' bimeby Marse Bickneli tu'n roun', an' des fahly spitten 
out de wuds, he say : 'Eph, put de bud to dat old mewl of 
you'n an' le's git 'long to some place wheah dey is shade 
an' watah. I is mos' daid fo' a drink.' 
"Dat suit me eszactly, but I ain' like de way Marse 
Bickneli talk 'bout my wah hoss, if hit was a mewl, an' 
I made my min' up to make his hoss jump w'en it come 
to de hurryin', 'cause I knew plum well my mewl could 
run. I ain' sayin' nothin' 'bout it, fo' he wan' de kin' 
of man you goin' talk back at much, even w'en well fed 
an' watahed. 
" 'I see timbah ahead, suh, long down de road,' I say, 
'an' dey may be watah dah, too.' He 'low it may be so, 
an' we light out. 
"Now, if I ain' tell you 'bout it befo', you don' know 
'bout dat hoss of Marse Bicknell's w'at he rode endurin' 
of de wah, an' w'at he call Black Jack. 
"Suh, dat was a hoss. I ain' nevah see annudder like 
him befo' or since. 'Bout sixteen han's high; nary a flaw 
on him; black as a crow wing, an' putty as a pictah was 
de way you would tell 'bout him, but it soun' col' talk 
w'en you think of de hoss as he was. 
"An' go! Man, suh, he could out-run, an' out-jump 
any hoss in de reg'mint ! 
"Marse Bickneli was fon' of me, an' he love his pa an' 
his ma, an' all his folks, but dat hoss, Black Jack, was 
w'at he love mo' den all de res' of us put togedda. He 
didn't nevah seem to real'y cah when he was hongry, or 
thusty, col' or ti'ed, des so his hoss was'n suffin' none; 
an' de hoss seem to know how de man love him, an' 'spond 
back, he did. Dey wan' nothin' dat Black Jack wouldn' 
do foh Marse Bickneli, dat a hoss could do, ceptin' one 
thing, an' dat was go clost to a beah. He was dat skeered 
of a beah look like he sho' die if he git clost to one, an' 
Marse Bickneli hatter quit ridin' him beah huntin' 'cause 
he 'fraid he break his neck gitten skeered an' jumpin' so. 
He fahly thow'd him befo' he done it though, an' he de 
only hoss dat evah thow'd Marse Bickneli, an' de only 
time he evah tried to do it. 
"It hap'n dis way : We was huntin' in de canebrake, an' de 
dogs was clos' on de beah an' me an' Marse Bickneli was 
ridin' hawd to git to a open place 'long 'head of dem, w'en 
de beah tu'n quick an' bus' out of de cane right 'long 
side of us, an' 'bout ten feet from Black Jack, an' you 
oughter see dat hoss! Ain' no wonder Marse Bickneli 
did'n stay on him. Ain' noboddy goin' stay on a hoss w'at 
doin' like he doin'. Look like he goin' git in a tree foh 
to git away from de beah, an' he ain' goin' clim' de tree, 
neider; des goin' jump up in it, an' way up high, too. 
"It skeered me so, wid de beah, too, dat I did'n know 
des w'at happen, but w'en my hoss quit r'arin' an' de beah 
run off out er sight, Marse Bickneli was in de limbs of a 
live oak tree, his saddle was in de top of a saplin', an' 
his hoss plum gone out of sight an yearin.' He ride my 
hoss home, an' he ain' nevah ride Black Jack beah huntin' 
no m'oah. 
"W'en we 'gin to move right peart towa'ds de timbah 
wheah we was hopin' to fin' watah, dat mownin w'at I 
was tellin' you 'bout, I see Marse Bickneli was lettin' his 
hoss go, an' so I grab off my hat an' go to fannin' my 
mewl wid it, an' de mewl sho' did 'spond. We kep' goin' 
little fastah, an' little fastah, 'til we was des a flyin', but 
de mewl was dah, too. Time or two I see Marse Bickneli 
lookin' 'roun' out de tail of his eye, an' fin'ly he tu'n roun' 
an' take a fah look, but he ain' say nothin'. I knowed it 
was makin' him mad to see a mewl keepin' so neah Black 
Jack, w'en he mos' doin' his bes'; but dat mewl could 
sho' run. 
"We wan' long gitten to de trees, an' w'en we pull up 
'long wheah dey was some fence lef, it do look like we 
was goin' to git watah, an' good, too. Down 'bout two 
hund'ed ya'ds in de woods was some big rocks, an' watah 
was suttinly runnin' out from somewhas da 'bout. 
"Hit a spring,' says Marse Bickneli. 'You hoi' my 
hoss,' an' off he light, ovah de fence he jump, an' down 
th'ough de woods he run like he half wil'. I watch him 
go to wheah we 'low de spring is, an' wish I was wid 
him w'en he pitch down on his han's an' knees an' I see 
he drinkin'. He drink an' drink 'til I 'fraid he bus' his- 
self, an' den rais' up an' res' a minnit, an' went at it ag'in. 
"He sho' goin' drink all de watah dey is, I think, wid 
me sittin' heah most daid; but 'bout dat time I heah 
sompin like somboddy comin', an' lookin' roun' I see a 
sight w'at make me forgit dat I evah was thusty. Comin' 
long down de road, an' mos' to wheah I was settin' on 
my mewl, was 'bout a dozen Yankee sojers. Dey had 
been ridin' 'long on de grass side de road, so I ain' heah 
dem 'til dey got close up an' saw me lookin', an' now dey 
was comin' lickety-split. 
