338 
FOREST A \ D S T R E A M 
July, 1919 
JAMES 
ALEXANDER HENSHALL 
'I 
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE APOSTLE OF THE BLACK BASS. 
FATHER OF THE GRAYLING AND DEAN OF AMERICAN ANGLERS 
THIRD PAPER 
J OHNNIE and I, like most boys living 
in a seaport, were crazy to go to 
sea. The last word in marine archi- 
tecture or naval construction of sailing 
vessels was reached in the Baltimore 
Clipper, the best, fastest and most beau- 
tiful sailing ship in the world. Under 
full sail, with the wind abaft or abeam, 
with her white wings spread from her 
huge mainsail to the lofty moonsail or 
skyscraper, and with every thread draw- 
ing, full and free, it was a sight worth 
going miles to see. 
Johnnie and I when admiring an out- 
ward bound clipper under a mountain of 
canvas, from taffrail to truck, always 
wished or imagined ourselves aboard and 
bound for Hongkong or Rio. 
We often went aboard the vessels in 
the harbor, and after paying our footing 
with a plug of tobacco to some old deep- 
sea sailor, he would take great pride in 
instructing us in the nomenclature of 
hull, spars, sails and sheets, so that their 
names became quite familiar to us. 
These old salts were very particular to 
impress us with the fact that there were 
no ropes aboard a ship but a “rope’s 
end,” and would say that the less we 
had to do with that the better, and that 
all other ropes were sheets, stays hal- 
yards, etc. 
They also instructed us in nautical 
terms, and one of them once clinched 
some of the terms with a good-natured 
joke, and said that when he wished for 
a change in his diet of salt horse and 
duff, he would get ducks or chickens from 
the hatchway, and as for fresh eggs, the 
captain made the ship “lay-to” and he 
got one of them. Telling this to another 
old salt he said: 
“Y'es, I have heard that before; Noah 
used to spring it on the boys in the ark.” 
This was all very amusing to us and 
usually it called for an extra plug of 
tobacco, in which case we were permitted 
to ascend the shrouds and run over the 
rigging like so many monkeys. 
In regard to our going to sea most of 
the old salts advised us not to go before 
the mast, but to enter the Naval Acad- 
emy at Annapolis and become midship- 
men, as in that way we could go aboard 
a ship over the rail and not through the 
hawse-hole. Having this in mind, when- 
ever there was a steamboat excursion on 
Saturdays to Annapolis, Johnnie and I 
paid our quarter and went aboard. After 
arriving at Annapolis we spent most of 
the time in admiring the middies as they 
strolled about the grounds. We learned 
that the way to gain admittance to the 
Academy would be explained to us if we 
wrote to the Navy Department. Accord- 
ingly I wrote to the Secretary of the 
Navy, and within a few days niy father 
handed me a large official letter and said : 
“Have you been in correspondence 
with the Secretary of the Navy?” 
“Yes, sir; I am going to be a mid-. 
shipman,” I said, as bravely as I could. 
“Oh, you are, eh,” he replied, and went 
away, chuckling to himself. 
The letter proved to be a few lines of 
transmittal, with some printed instruc- 
tions for admission to the Naval Acad- 
emy. In compliance with the same I for- 
warded my name, age, etc., to be en- 
rolled on the waiting list of candidates, 
probably a hundred or more. But until 
I reached the age limit of sixteen years 
there was no vacancy in my Congres- 
sional district. 
J OHNNIE tied eel skins about his an- 
kles when swimming as a preventive 
to cramps, but I had no faith in their 
virtues in this respect. Fishing for eels 
did not appeal to my proper sense of 
angling. However, I consented at last 
to Johnnie’s repeated solicitations to go 
fishing for eels on some moonlight night, 
to a place where he had once gone with 
Fishing in the olden days 
his father on a similar expedition. The 
place was a stream known as Washing- 
ton Falls, at a point where the Baltimore 
& Ohio railroad crossed it on a viaduct 
more than a hundred feet high. 
Accordingly we started after supper 
one moonlit night on a tramp of several 
miles along the railway. Johnnie car- 
ried a tin lantern perforated with holes, 
which was in common use at that time, 
while I carried a covered tin bucket as 
a creel for eels. Our handlines, sinkers 
and matches were in our pockets. 
For bait we had prepared some ‘eel- 
bobs” under the tuition of Johnnie’s 
father. These were made by stringing 
earthworms on a worsted strand several 
inches long, and then doubling it into 
a wad that could be swallowed by an eel. 
These were fresh-water eels, somewhat 
smaller, and as Johnnie’s father said, of 
better flavor than those of salt-water. 
While on our way the moon became ob- 
scured by clouds, and mutterings of thun- 
der were heard in the distance. When 
we reached the cliff beside the viaduct it 
was quite dark. TherS was a narrow 
*Spath leading down the steep cliff from 
the top to the stream below which I 
knew very well, having often fished there 
in daylight for gudgeons. 
I thought I could discern the path a 
foot or two below in the dark, and with 
the utmost confidence I gave a Tittle jump 
to reach it — but horrors! I struck the 
rocks ten or twelve feet below, glanced 
off and kept striking and glancing until 
I landed against a tree on the bank of 
the stream, more scared than hurt. Con- 
siderably battered and bruised I pulled 
myself together and looked up to the 
summit of the cliff and beheld Johnnie 
standing with both arms raised above 
his head, apparently dumfounded, and 
silhouetted against the gray sky line. 
I needlessly shouted to him not to 
jump, as he had no intention of doing it. 
Being assured that I was not killed he 
lighted the lantern and, slowly and cau- 
tiously, made his way down the cliff, 
preferring that method, as he said, to 
my precipitate way of descending. Years 
afterward I never crossed the viaduct 
on the train between Baltimore and 
Washington without wondering why I 
was not killed or seriously injured for 
life, as I got a glimpse of the bold, 
rocky fagade of the acclivity. 
We found the bucket and lid which I 
had dropped in my rapid descent, and 
proceeded up the stream to an old grist 
mill. We were to fish in the tail-race 
of the mill. The thunder increased and 
rain seemed not far away. We seated 
ourselves on the wall of the race and be- 
gan fishing. 
Tying a bob on our lines we tossed 
them into the water and waited for re- 
sults. It was not long before the bobs 
were swallowed, and the eels were quickly 
and cautiously drawn up before they had 
a chance to disgorge the bunch of worms, 
for we used no fish-hooks. The eels were 
then seized and killed before placing them 
in the bucket. 
The way to hold an eel is to encircle its- 
body just below its head with the mid- 
dle finger, then press it firmly against 
the other fingers; this is a strangle-hold 
that it cannot break, no matter how it 
squirms and wriggles. Then hold the 
head against the ground, throat down- 
ward, and with a sharp-pointed knife 
blade thrust it through the head just 
behind the eyes. This effectually kills: 
the slimy creature and puts an end to 
its contortions. 
The air was now becoming quite damp- 
and chilly, an owl was hooting in the 
gloomy recesses of the old mill, and' 
several bats were circling about our 
lantern in search of the winged insects 
that were swarming in its light. 
We had taken half a dozen large eels, 
enough to fill the bucket, and as it be- 
gan to sprinkle rain, we decid^ to quit 
and call the game off an(T”^epart for 
(lome. It was my first an^ last fishing 
for eels at night or at any other' tune. 
