January, 1922 
FOREST AND STREAM 
35 
ICE BOUND ON 
GREAT SOUTH BAY 
{Continued from page 13) 
“You boys come across and get breakfast 
with us. There’ll be plenty for all 
hands.” How, I ask, can you beat them ? 
Pete and I discussed this question later. 
We decided that a Life Saver, for down- 
right efficiency, thoughtfulness and kind- 
liness was, so to speak, in a class by him- 
self — and we let it go at that. 
The disappearance of the ice — for it 
did disappear almost in the space of a 
day — in no way altered my determination 
to start at once for home. I was quite as 
keen now for departure as I had at first 
been wildly impatient to set forth on that 
eventful cruise. Pete, I may say, fully 
shared my desire. The opportunity at 
last offering for a little good duck shoot- 
ing found us both apathetic. Even the 
prospect of ducks had ceased to please. 
On one point Pete and I agreed. Be- 
fore undertaking the trip — we intended 
to sail around the island this time — we 
must engage the services of a competent 
pilot. Part of our cruise would take us 
outside, but, I think, I had less fear of 
the ocean than I had of the difficult 
creeks and channels that run through the 
Long Island meadows from East Bay to 
the Rockaway Inlet. Twists there are, 
and windings, “catch-ups” and “traps.” 
The unitiated threads his way through 
this Stygian maze with a miserable sense 
of uncertainty assailing him at every 
turn. I had had prior experience of 
Garrett Lead and confluent waters. A 
pilot we had to have. I mention our 
manner of obtaining one with a certain 
amount of reluctance. 
IT was a Sunday afternoon. A peace- 
^ ful calm lay on ocean and bay alike. 
Undoubted suggestions of spring’s ap- 
proach had lured a number of winter- 
weary pleasure parties across to the 
ocean sands. Strolling along the beach, 
Pete and I happened on one of these 
little gatherings. In the center of the 
charmed circle sat Cap’n Joe — dispens- 
ing liquid refreshment from a sizable 
brown jug. It was evident that Cap’n 
Joe had been there some time; also that 
his companions had long since abandoned 
the field of conversation and were leav- 
ing it to Joe. For the most part they lay 
peacefully sleeping in the warm sand. 
Several attempted a polite though va- 
grant interest in Cap’n Joe’s rambling 
remarks, but one could see that there 
was little or no enthusiasm anywhere in 
that party. We sensed this before we 
had reached the spot and gathered the 
lay of the land. 
Joe greeted us with affection and apol- 
ogized for his friends. They had “aban- 
doned” him. He was like a shipwrecked 
i^ariner — ^worse, a marooned mariner; 
deserted by his mates, alone on an un- 
friendly shore. He was old, too — and 
thirsty; “and the best sailor on the hull 
South Shore.” Tears of self-pity coursed 
down his weatherbeaten face as he told 
us of his cruel wrongs — and at the hands 
of, so-called, friends ! He tipped the jug 
and found it empty, and his troubles grew 
apace. Bill, of pugilistic promise, “was 
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