December, 1920 
FOREST AND STREAM 
641 
tamed and make interesting, although 
mischievous pets, and when full grown, 
like this one, they make a hard battle, 
as many a dog, unused to their ways, 
has learned to its sorrow.” 
Seeing nothing more to its liking in 
the way of food, the animal went its 
way out through the swamp entirely 
unaware that it had furnished a lesson 
in natural history to a very observant 
boy who later in life became a most 
ardent hunter and trapper of its kin. 
W HEN they returned to the camp 
they found Mr. Woodhull sleep- 
ing soundly, extracting from 
the wood’s atmosphere rejuvenation 
with each breath; his appearance and 
actions denoting the fact without ques- 
tion. “The tide has started down and 
we will get ready for fishing,” said 
Mr. Adams, as he peered along the bank. 
“That ’coon took up some of our time 
and we should be at it now.” Matt 
quickly put the poles in the boat while 
his companion was getting his more 
elaborate tackle ready and was stand- 
ing observing the sleeping Woodhull 
when the spirit of mischief, which was 
ever dominant, prompted him to break 
a long spray of rush which was growing 
near at hand and he began tickling the 
sleeping man’s ear. “Skeeter?” he 
asked under his breath as the man 
sleepily brushed his hand at the imag- 
inary pest; then a moment later quite 
a vigorous slap followed at which Matt 
grinned and orought his hand down on 
his knee emphasizing his merriment. 
“Gosh,” he said, “I wish’t for a minute 
he was Ned Southard. See that bum’le 
bee? Well, if it was him I’d have my 
hat over the bee in jig time ’nen I’d fix 
his wings so’ he could’nt fly an’ with a 
stick I’d put it right where his pants is 
good an’ tight an’ ’nen I’d squeeze the 
bee a little an’ be ready to run like 
blazes when he let out his e-e-yow,” and 
Matt indulged in a yell which made the 
woods ring while Mr. Woodhull came 
to a bolt upright position. “Who’s 
murdered?” asked Mr. Woodhull, rub- 
bing his eyes and looking at Mr. Adams 
who was laughing heartily. “Nobody’s 
murdered,” siaid Matt drolly, “he on’y 
got stung with a bum’le bee an’ jest 
yowled as mos’ anybody’d do.” Mr. 
Woodhull asked no more questions but 
walked to the boat with the others who 
were still in a much amused humor. 
Matt steadied the boat down stream 
with the oars to where it wias deemed 
best to make a trial at fishing. We can 
only guess what we may get here,” said 
Mr. Adams. “We are as likely to get 
salt-water fish as fresh-water, and so 
we will use medium size hooks and 
trust to luck for the beginning.” The 
two watched v/ith much interest -as Mr. 
Adams cleaned a shedder crab. He first 
removed the large claws ; then he tapped 
with the handle of his fish knife the 
under shell which broke readily and he 
removed the pieces with his thumb nail, 
after which he turned the crab over 
and cracked the upper shell which came 
away in two large pieces; the whole 
crab being peeled as readily and smooth- 
ly as a hard boiled egg. He then cut 
it in small pieces, following the grain 
of the sections running lengthways .on 
the crab, leaving a section of the skin 
on each piece as it helps the bait to 
cling to the hook. “I think we should 
fish close to the bottom,” said Mr. 
Adams, “as in such places it usually 
gives better results.” Matt had selected 
rather light poles for the occasion. A1-* 
though he was entirely ignorant of what 
class of fish would be met with, he had 
to take that chance. Both he and Mr. 
Woodhull were shown how to put the 
crab-bait on a hook; running the hook 
through from the flesh side out through 
the skin. For quite a while none of the 
party had any strikes and the boy was 
getting a little restless. Then he real- 
ized that something was at his bait, as 
it began moving away with his line and 
he brought the pole up sharply and felt 
that his fish was hooked. It began 
struggling in the water and ran directly 
under the boat. He was anxious to see 
what manner of fish he was connected 
with and played it rather vigorously, 
but was cautioned not to be in such a 
Matt steadied the boat downstream 
hurry by Mr. Adams. He at last 
brought it to the surface and was cha- 
grinned to find it was a very large eel. 
But Mr. Adams gave a cry of delight 
and reached the landing net under the 
squirming quarry, saying as he did 
so: “You may catch many fine fish 
around here but none choicer than the 
one you have just landed. That is a 
silver eel and is one of the finest of 
known sea-foods.” Matt’s attention was 
drawn to the fact that its back was -a 
bright steel color, shading down through 
silver to pure white on its under side. 
Its head was broad in comparison with 
others he had caught in different places. 
“We will shake hands on that prize,” 
said his companion, “and if we can get 
another we will all have a meal a king 
might envy. As a matter of fact, they 
are entirely too good for most kings I 
ever heard of; they are best suited to 
fishermen and other honest folks. You 
will find a vast difference in the flavor 
of these salt-wiater fellows compared 
with the fresh-water kind you have been 
accustomed to.” Mr. Woodhull had a 
strike and he drew to the surface a 
small fish which darted away, showing 
a bright silvery side as it did so. 
“Debby,” said Mr. Adams, “their 
mouths are very small and they are 
hard to hook. They are a fine pan 
fish and worthy of time spent fishing 
for them. They are looked upon as 
being strictly a salt-water fish and yet 
they are, as we now know, here in the 
fresh water. There is much to be 
learned in relation to this very subject. 
For a small and rather unimportant 
fish, commercially speaking, they have 
a great many names by which they are 
known in different places — Debby, Spot, 
Lafayette, Goody and many others. 
They all mean the same fish and it does 
seem a pity that there has not long 
since been some way established where- 
by the one name would mean the same 
fish wherever found. If we find they 
are about here in numbers we can put 
on small hooks and have sport with 
them. If we could see the bottom here 
we would see shrimps all about us. 
These fish lie in wait for them as the 
tide moves them about. The shrimps, 
too, doubtle^ move about with the tide, 
feeding on their selection of food, which 
in turn is feeding on — “Gee, amighty 
gosh!” whooped Matt, “did’ya ever see 
a strike like that?” His pole tip went 
under the water and his line went hiss- 
ing down stream until with a snap it 
flew into the air minus the hook. “That 
was a large one,” said Mr. Adams, 
“either a weakfish or bass. You held 
him too hard; you should have given 
him the spring of the pole and swung 
him around.” The boy sat saucer-eyed, 
gazing into the water too much amazed 
at the suddenness and vigor of the 
strike to utter a word. At last he 
found expression. “Turn him around? 
Might’s well try to turn a yerlin calf 
around with that line tied to his tail, 
an’ him a jumpin’. I’ll never git an- 
other strike like that, never.” 
M R. ADAMS had his bait taken off 
several times by fish too small to 
be taken by the hook he was using 
and having a reel he was casting away 
from the boat further than Mr. Wood- 
hull and Matt could reach with their 
simpler rigs. Mr. Woodhull had taken 
another eel, a good second to the one 
Matt had and Mr. Adams was gloating 
over the prospect of what he called a 
royal supper. He had put a large piece 
of the crab on his hook and was per- 
mitting it to float down stream. By 
raising it to the surface and then re- 
leasing the reel he would allow it to 
settle and almost reach the bottom, 
meanwhile working down stream at 
each lowering of the rod tip. He had 
worked it down perhaps fifty feet when 
with a jerk his bamboo rod went double 
and the reel set up a complaining 
screech as the line paid swiftly out. Mr. 
Adams kept a taut line and a cool head 
while both his companions became ex- 
cited, the boy particularly so as he was 
anxious to see a large salt-water fish 
landed. Presently there was a splash 
at the surface and as a spray of water 
went into the air the line went slack. 
“I’ve lost him,” said Mr. Adams regret- 
fully “the hook was too small I guess.” 
“Shucks,” said the lad, “that’s two big 
ones lost. Mab’e you didn’t turn him 
enough,” and he giggled. Mr. Adams 
took the hint and reminded him that 
he didn’t lose his hook any how. Mr. 
Woodhull hooked and boated a fish of 
(continued on page 667) 
