118 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. II, 1905. 
seconds the fish seemed to go mad, flinging its tail out 
of water, rolling over and over in a flurry of rage, then 
suddenly darting away like an arrow from a bow. 
I had about fifty feet of line, on the grains — sufficient 
for turtle, but not for game of this kind — so_ Chief had 
made fast another "rope, and this, to the painter none 
too soon, as the line was jerked out of the dinghy in a 
marvelous fashion, keeping us jumping to avoid it. 
The end quickly came, the dinghy being jerked ahead 
with a force that nearly sent me overboard.^ Out into 
the channel we went, back on to the reef again; the fish 
now dashing into the air, rushing to and fro in a sug- 
gestive manner, as though hunting for the cause of the 
trouble, leaping and plunging, to follow with a rush 
that carried us half around the island; then, striking 
a steady pace, the fish headed out to sea. We then 
took the line, passed it aft and "laid on." How many 
times I had hauled on big game in this way! — exciting 
sport, hard work, but here Avas a game that had it in its 
power to spit us again and again, and Long John was 
not backward in expressing his opinion ominously. 
"Boss, ['m dogged if I like this yer so'dfishing; he's a 
reg'lar volador; maybe he's a man-killer, an'. Lord! 
how he's a-pullin'." 
At this moment the swordfish was rushing around in 
a circle about two hundred feet distant, hauling our lit- 
tle dinghy around and over in a manner not particularly 
pleasant, though Chief had an oar out astern, and was 
trying to keep her bow to the fish. The swordfish made 
a complete circle of the boat, and John swore softly to 
emphasize his view that the fish was hunting for us. 
So we laid on, the men joining in a quaint chanty, 
"Blow the man down," as we ran the dinghy up nearer, 
coiling the slack as we earned it. 
The fish continually took us offshore, and here made 
a fine leap into the air, shaking itself and falling with 
a crash, to make off in a new direction. Nearer we 
came. 
"Blow the man down!" 
We were within thirty feet of the fish, which was 
bearing down while we laid and held the dinghy to it 
until it seemed as though she would go under; then 
"all together!" and she shot ahead. "Oiice more, lads," 
and the boat cut the foaming water directly over the 
fish, and with a rush we had it alongside, beatmg the 
water, striking from left to right, rolling over and over, 
until Chief lassoed the spear, caught it and held on 
while Long John sent his sharp knife into the white 
throat and ended the game. 
Then we pulled for the key, towing the big fish that 
soon baited up two or three sharks, which followed up 
the trail of blood like hounds, only to be beaten off 
by blows and splashing of the oar. In a short time we 
had reached the sand and had our fish high on the 
beach, a splendid specimen of the American sailfish 
(Istiophorus). We had no facilities for securing the skin 
and tall fin, much to our regret, so cured the head and 
sword, which made an excellent trophy. 
There is a great deal of mystery about the breeding 
of this swordfish. I frequented this section of the reef 
winter and summer for five years, and saw many of the 
sailfishes, but never the young, nor did I ever meet any 
one who had, and where the fishes spawn, or where they 
go, is at least to me unknown. Our catch was over 
seven feet in length, with a remarkable tail, large and 
powerful, telling the story of its powerful leaps and 
bow made. Chief said there was another— aguj a de 
costa, he called it— -that was very rare, but much dreaded. 
I did not see this great fish, though I hunted for it in 
deep and shallow water; nor did I succeed in hooking 
a third and common species. Tetrapterus imperaior, 
though more than once we put the grains into speci- 
mens and raced with them over the smooth waters of 
a deep lagoon to the south. 1 • 
There is a great difference in swordfishes. Xiphias 
of the North Atlantic is a large and powerful fish, and 
the records show it to be a dangerous foe, many ships 
and boats having been injured by it; but it will not take 
bait, and can only be harpooned. The spearfish not 
only takes the bait, but is a fine game fish, playing like 
a tiger and leaping into the air continually, though its 
leap, which I have often watched, is a clumsy affair, a 
spring upward not unlike that of the tarpon, a wdd, 
hysterical bound of rage, fear and savage intent, yet 
unable to turn, the fish falls back bodily upon its belly 
with a loud crash. 
That night after dinner, while we laid on the hot 
sands watching the clouds change from pink to ver- 
milion, scarlet and other tints that Turner reveled in. 
John related a weird yarn of his luck with the sloop 
San Rosalie. 
"We were fishin' for red snapper," he said, on the 
bank to the south'ard one summer, in the Havana trade. 
When we filled the well we jest ran over and sold the 
goods, and was back the next day. 
"I reckon we must have rammed into a big so dfish-^ 
they have a way of leapin' on the surface. I was settin 
on the rail, fishin', and the smack was hauled up into the 
wind driftin', but hardly movin', when I see what I 
thought was a shark fin comin' along cuttm' through 
the water like a knife. I yelled to the boys to look, 
and then I see a long, narrer fish like a torpedo— 1 11 
swear it was twenty feet long— then it hit us under the 
port bow, biff! You may not believe it, boss^ but that 
sloop was head down by the time we got the dinghy 
overboard, and in twenty minutes she was full, only the 
air in the well kept her afloat, and we got her into 
shallow water after a six-hour tow with the two boats, 
and at ebb tide got at the hole. The fish had struck the 
head of a rotten -plank that had given way, and left a 
hole in her as big as a man's head. _ 
"When we were gettin' her underway, continued 
John who was lying flat on the sands, his red face sup- 
ported by his long arms, "I saw something thrashing 
the water, and it turned out to be the so'dfish; so we 
took it out of him jest for luck. He was swimming 
in a circle and fighting mad, but I put a pair of grams 
into him and made him fast and towed most of him in. 
The sharks got a share, and when we got him on the 
beach we found that the so'd was broken off, so that 
his whole doggoned head was splintered. The fish was 
twelve foot long and must have weighed fifteen hundred 
pounds; but we didn't weigh him. I never see another 
like him, and never want to, as when we g9t the bow 
of the gmack out of water, there was about eight inches 
of the so'd rammed into one of the smack's knees; it 
was in so tight that we jest cut it off." 
This large fish must have been the rare Tetrapterus 
amplus, found south of Cuba, of large size. 
At daybreak I found the men asleep on the sands 
that were still warm; they had forgotten the formality 
of turning in. As I stole down to the beach to reach 
the warm bath, always ready with its clear sandy bot- 
tom, the spit was covered with birds. A flock of 
flamingoes stood like statues, white and red; roseate 
spoonbills plumed themselves with spatulalike bills; 
gray pelicans, laughing gulls, and on a bush hard by a 
flock of man-of-war birds, by all odds the most graceful 
flier of bird creation. 
I swam down shore near them. Doubtless they 
thought me some kind of turtle; but as the sun came 
up out of a bank of vermilion clouds they all went to 
sea, and as I laid on the beach there began one of those 
conflicts, illustrating how the other half lives. A laugh- 
ing gull had alighted on the head of John's pelican just 
as the latter was about to swallow a fish it had caught, 
and leaning over snatched it from its mouth and rose 
aloft with exultant cries, at which a man-of-war bird 
unlirabered and flew after it; then followed one of the 
most remarkable contests I have ever witnessed. For 
twenty minutes the man-of-war bird chased the gull 
up and down, in and out, dashing at it flercely, the two 
constantly rising until they seemed to be lost in the ern- 
pyrean, then the gull was plundered; it dropped the fish it 
had filched from the pelican, which fell like a plummet, 
while the black, red-pouched man-of-war bird followed 
with a downward rush like a meteor, overtook the falling 
fish, rose beneath it, caught it deftly in the air, and 
slowly flew to its perch in the bay cedars to enjoy the 
thrice-stolen game. 
I watched this bold robbery many times, but never 
knew the pelican to resist or protest when the gull sat 
on its head or back; nor did I ever see a man-of-war 
bird fish for itself, though of course it does, but not 
when it can filch from the laughing gull, the pelican 
robber, which in turn kidnaps the fishes of the sea. 
Age and Angling, 
Nowadays when the heart is being constantly torn 
with the woes of the old man — when from day to day- 
he is reported as being shut out of employment in 
pulpit, school house, counting house and work shop; 
when great corporations set an arbitrary limit to his 
usefulness, and even the civil service threatens to fall 
into line — it is pleasant to reflect that there is an occu- 
pation in which the old man still reigns supreme. This 
occupation is angling. 
Considering the matter carefullj^ from the stand- 
point of an observer, I believe it is not too much to 
say that the old angler is the most to be envied of all 
men, and the reasons are not hard to find. Not only 
does his skill with rod and line remain the same, no 
matter what his age, but the masterly way in which 
he outgenerals, outmaneuvers and outshines his youth- 
ful rivals is a warning to all to attempt no competi- 
tion. He is proof against many of the ills that fre- 
quently befall old age, being rendered so by the life 
of exposure he has led. He is always the most com- 
panionable of old men, and his fund of humor and 
stock of stories good and bad make him even more 
delightful a companion than in his youth; and a cer- 
tain irresponsibility or vagabondage that goes with 
the calling adds to his charm. Indeed, few autocrats 
hold their position in so firm a grasp as does the old 
angler. That is, if we admit that an angler ever does 
grow old. His body, of course, will show signs of 
age. His hair will grow white, his shoulders bowed, 
his step more slow, his years will string out in an 
ever-lengthening chain; but whether he ever really 
grows old — whether, whatever the infirmities of his 
body, his heart is not always the heart of a boy — • 
whether the day ever comes when a new fishing story 
ceases to cheer him, when he would not gladly leave 
his family to care for themselves, don his disreputable 
fishing garments, and start out if only his strength 
would permit, is a question that at least admits of 
discussion. 
Why, up the Sock — that blessed region beloved of 
fishermen — nobody ever dreams of an angler stopping 
fishing because he is old. They tell of an angler who 
has been coming up for the trout fishing each spring 
for ninety years, and who has each year brought along 
a new rod. The ninety years never seem to occasion 
much remark. It is the ninety rods that agitate the 
story tellers. 
Neither is infirmity considered a bar, and the expe- 
riences of the quick-tempered old judge are still 
relished. He is said to have kept coming up into this 
paradise that ensnared his youth — had to, you know, 
couldn't help it — until at last it took one man on each 
side to hold him up and one behind to shove him 
along. Yet even then he vigorously cast the fly, and 
when a youth of seventy odd ventured to remark on 
the very few fish he caught, the Judge is said to have 
shouted maledictions upon him, and to have demanded 
if he hadn't yet grown old enough to know that a man 
didn't go a-fishing just to catch the fish. 
Still another old chap they tell of who grew rheu- 
matic with advancing years, and who consequently 
fell a victim to prudence. Not, however, sufiiciently 
to stay at home comfortably and take care of himself. 
No, indeed, that were too much to ask! But he bought 
himself an old white horse, and taught it how to wade, 
and for years it is said this ingenious angler fished 
each spring from the horse's back with quite the same 
joy he had felt in his youth, if not with the same 
luck. 
But all of these men were outdone by the angler 
who couldn't sit up at all, but who had himself 
bolstered up in the end of a spring wagon. The 
wagon was then backed into the stream at various 
favorite spots, and the old man fished to his heart's 
content over the tailboard. 
Now, these men were not old — -not one of them. 
They were boys. Their poor frail bodies had played 
them false. They had to be propped up and shoved 
along, bolstered in wagons and mounted on borrowed 
feet, yet their hearts were not old, and their love for 
the sky, the mountain, the clear running water, was 
just as keen— aye, keener — than it had been when first 
they tramped the dear familiar paths. 
No, they were all of them boys. The very same 
boys, too, let me say in passing, who years and years 
before had carried proudly through the streets home 
to their mothers their first strings of shiners, and 
who, sitting in the pantry in the dear old home, had 
related to her the exact manner in which each sunny 
and chub had been captured. And no one who knows 
anglers will doubt that these same boys, in just the 
same manner, with just the same pride and delight, 
will relate the story of the last fish they ever catch. 
Neither do anglers themselves seem to have any 
idea of age being a barrier to fishing. One young 
angler whom I know, who is already growing older 
every day, fully expects to fish until he is an hundred. 
He expects, he says, to fish for trout until he is eighty, 
for bass until he is ninety, and to round out the cen- 
tury fishing for catfish. In moments of exaltation he 
even speaks incoherently of fishing later on over the 
tailboard of a wagon, as did the old man in the story; 
and he will do it,unless he dies. 
Suppose, however, we admit that age attacks an 
angler just as it does the rest of mankind, he none 
the less enjoys a position that largely compensates 
him for the loss of his youth. Indeed, the old angler 
comes in time to be a hero in a certain way, and many 
are the traditions which, of course, are not without 
some foundation in fact, that fasten themselves to him 
and enhance his importance. Anyone who has 
haunted a trout stream knows what I mean. The 
old man may not, indeed, have the fish all marked and 
named, so that they answer to his call, as they are 
said to do, but he does know the secrets of the streams 
as few others do. That he was always a powerful 
wader, no one doubts; yet the story that he was able 
to wade a riffle so stiff that the water ran into his 
coat collar on the one side yet failed to wet his stock- 
ings on the other, or that he habitually waded down 
the middle of even the swiftest creeks because it was 
too much trouble to go around by the road, may have 
to be taken with some discretion, together with other 
tales of his remarkable endurance and skill, and of his 
strange influence over the powers of the water. But 
they are none of them entirely untrue, and all add to 
the proud position he occupies. 
Then, too, no matter what his age, the days are 
still pleasant ones to him when he can sit in the sun 
and relate his adventures and listen to those of other 
anglers, questioning, of course, the truth of every 
story not his own; when he can criticise every bit of 
tackle and its unfortunate owner, condemn every new 
device, and deride unsparingly the unfortunate user of 
it, point every moral from his sheaf of favorite yarns, 
scorn every unwelcome advance, knowing full well 
that his companionship is a prize for which many 
seek. 
In the summer days he still fishes, and frequently 
routs his youthful rivals completely. In the winter he 
listens to the tales 6f the creeks, of the ice, of the 
logs. The floods yield him interest, and the man with 
a new storj^ is the joy of his life. Indeed, so well 
satisfied is the old angler that he envies no one — ex- 
cepting perhaps Methuselah or the Wandering Jew— 
and these only because of the unequaled opportunities 
for fishing their lives afforded. Probably the only 
real dread he has is of the time when he can no 
longer tramp around nor sit under the blue sky. Noth- 
ing else matters greatly. Sorrow he can bear — has 
borne in large measure — suffering, privation, disap- 
pointment — anything that does not keep him from his 
land of heart's desire. 
Now, whether or not the fact of eternal youth has 
been proved for the old angler matters not, his en- 
viable old age can not be doubted. For whether he be 
sitting in the sun, delighting an audience with his 
comments on modern methods in angling, or mounted 
on a white horse casting a fly for trout; whether he be 
propped up in a wagon or shoved and pulled along the 
bank; whether he be telling his favorite yarn for the 
thousandth time, or whether he be carrying home only 
sunfish, there is no time when his age cuts him out; 
and to the very last he is to be envied above all other 
old men. Justina Johnson. 
Fish Hospital at Vienna. 
The Frankfort (Germany) News states that since the 
beginning of the winter term a station for research and 
observation of sick flsh has been established at the veter- 
inary high school of Vienna, under the direction of Pro- 
fessor Doctor Fiebiger. Officials of this institution will 
investigate the biology and pathology of fish. One of the 
main objects of the researches will be to study whether 
certain diseases of fish are transmitted to man, and if so 
to what extent. The scientific diagnosis of the sick fish 
is affixed to each compartment containing them. Fishes 
are to be found suffering from smallpox and others from 
intestinal catarrh. A dolphin was brought to the institute 
with a disease which was diagnosed as inflammation of 
the lungs. The director is very reluctant about express- 
ing an opinion with reference to the curability of fish 
diseases. At any rate instructive observations in the field 
of comparative therapeutics may be expected 
Flofida Fish Killed by Cold. 
Lemon City, Fla., Jan. 29. — Editor Forest and Stream:, 
The cold wave of January 26 and 27 which swept over the 
State of Florida was not only disastrous to vegetation, but 
killed and rendered helpless many kinds of fish. The tar- 
pon especially were affected by the cold. There were 
brought to this place between forty and fifty tarpon which 
had been so benumbed by the cold as to be easily speared 
by parties who were searching for them. The largest 
fish was in length 7 feet 1% inches, girth 39^4 inches, 
weight 194 pounds. Several others were nearly this size. 
Hundreds of small fish of various species were killed out- 
right. Two boys, after being out a short time gathering 
the fish, brought in 99, mostly crevalle or jack. The tar- 
pon were salted, to be sent to the Key West market, 
where there is a ready sale for them, So the killing of 
the fish was not done wantonly, E. J. Bkov/x, . 
