July, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
339 
A t the beginning of my school vaca- 
tion in August, when ten years old, 
I was stricken down with a fever 
from which I did not recover for two 
months. It was complicated, with much 
brain trouble, which the doctor said was 
contracted by exposure to the sun in 
fishing, swimming and boating. How- 
ever that might have been, or whatever 
the cause, the hair was shaved from my 
head, and I was cupped and leeched on 
both temples and behind the ears, sev- 
eral times, and bled in both arms re- 
peatedly, the scars from which I carry 
to this day. The dozen of lancets of 
the “cup” were driven through the skin 
by means of a strong spring, which, to 
my sensitive and fevered brain was like 
the blow of a mallet. 
This was before the anesthetic prop- 
erties of ether or chloroform were dis- 
covered. I had read that surgical opera- 
tions were painless under the influence 
' of mesmerism, so I begged the doctor to 
mesmerize me. In _some surprise he 
turned to my mother and said; 
“What does he know about mesmer- 
ism?” 
She replied : “He reads a great deal.” 
I was subjected to the old practice of 
phlebotomy in its fullest sense. The 
practice was strictly in accordance with 
its theory, but fortunately for future 
sufferers the theory was at last found 
to be wrong, and both theory and prac- 
tice were abandoned for less barbarous 
and more enlightened methods. 
I use the word barbarous advisedly, 
for not much more than a century ago 
cupping, leeching and bleeding were the 
prerogative and province of barbers 
whose sign was a basin hung on the door- 
post, from which projected the semblance 
of a human arm, bound with a blood- 
stained bandage, from which finally 
evolved the red and white striped bar- 
ber’s pole of the present day. 
At the end of nearly two months I was 
reduced to skin and bone, or as Johnnie 
said, a living skeleton. I hovered be- 
tween life and death, and had been given 
up to die, as the doctor said my case 
was hopeless. I was incapable of speech 
and could barely move my hand, but I 
did not agree with his prognosis, and 
knew that while there was life there 
was hope, and felt confident that with 
my usual luck I would pull through. 
On a mild, balmy day at the end of 
September my couch was placed at a 
window that opened to the floor, through 
which a gentle breeze was rustling the 
curtains and fanning my fevered brow. 
My senses were very acute, but I could 
neither open my eyes nor move a muscle. 
The doctor came into the room, felt my 
pulse and called for a mirror which he 
placed at my lips to ascertain from the 
condensed moisture on the glass if I was 
breathing. He then turned to my mother 
and said: 
“He is pulseless and breathless,” and 
at the end of a short pause he said: “He 
is dead,” and left the room. 
My mother straitened my limbs, 
crossed my hands on my breast, and, 
weeping bitterly, went into another room. 
I then thought to myself: he is not 
dead, and he’s not going to die; he’s 
going to pull through. Being left alone 
I tried hard, oh, so hard, to move a little 
finger, until I feared that I would burst 
a blood-vessel in the effort. Then I re- 
alized that I did not have blood enough 
in my veins to burst a soap-bubble. 
Finally I succeeded in lifting my little 
finger, and after a while I moved my 
thumb, and then raised my hand. 
Quite exhausted with the effort I de- 
sisted for a few minutes. Then I man- 
aged to open my eyes and turn my face 
toward the window. There was a grape 
arbor running on a level with the window 
sill and down the back yard. I could 
see the large clusters of Isabella grapes, 
which were then quite ripe, and as their 
fragrant perfume came stealing in 
through the window I thought if I had 
but a single grape to press to my fevered 
lips I would soon be well. 
Then I saw some one gathering the 
purple clusters; it was Johnnie; I tried 
to call to him, but could not utter a 
sound. I then tried to sit up, and in the 
effort I rolled from the couch to the 
floor. The noise of my fall, slight as 
it was, brought my mother in haste to 
It is not all of fishing to fish 
the room. She raised me carefully in her 
arms and carried me to the open window, 
overjoyed to realize that I was alive. 
She chafed my hands and limbs and put 
in practice the means and expedients 
required in cases of suspended animation. 
The first thing I asked for was water, 
water, water. I had been allowed but a 
few sips each day. Laying me on the 
couch, she brought a pitcher of water 
and a glass. I seized the pitcher and 
drank eagerly and copiously. As I be- 
came stronger I asked for some grapes. 
Johnnie brought a bunch that had been 
rinsed in ice water, and my mother 
pressed out the delicious pulp and it was 
divine nectar to my parched and burn- 
ing lips and throat. 
The doctor had been hastily summoned, 
and when he arrived I was very much 
revived and stronger. He looked some- 
what surprised when I said: 
“I don’t want any more medicine or 
any more bloodletting.” 
He replied: “You will need but little 
medicine, and you will need every drop 
of blood in your veins. You have made 
a wonderful recovery. All you need now 
is good nursing and nourishment.” 
“Thank you,” I said, “I wish you had 
thought of that before.” 
If I had given up hope with the rest 
of them, I firmly believe that I would 
have died. It was only my persistence 
and self-will that prevented the shuf- 
fling off of my mortal coil. But as John- 
nie expressed it: 
“You’re a wonder! Drowned in the old 
quarry hole; smothered in the old oak 
chest; and then bled to death — three 
times and out — almost — I think you were 
born to be hung.” 
G UDpEONS, as one of our sailor 
friends informed us, were eye-bolts 
in the stern-post of a vessel on 
which the rudder was hung by hooks, 
called pintles. But the gudgeon I have 
in mind is a very different affair. In 
England there is a small fish, a goby, 
that is known as gudgeon, and a fish 
of that name is mentioned in ancient 
Greek literature. 
But the Baltimore gudgeon is suit 
generis. The name was applied to the 
little fish, I think, by the early English 
settlers of Maryland, on account of its 
extreme gullibility and free-biting pro- 
pensities; at all events the name seems 
to be restricted to the waters near Bal- 
timore. 
There are two species, very much alike, 
though belonging to different genera, 
and in order to properly identify them 
I am compelled to use their scientific 
names, which are Menidia notata, the 
silversides, and Anchovia brownii, the 
anchovy. Both are pretty little fishes, 
four to six inches long, pale sea-green on 
the back, and with more or less dotted 
silvery sides. They are delicious mor- 
sels when fried brown, and can be eaten, 
like sardines, bones and all. 
The only dressing required is to rub off 
the scales in the sand of the shore. In 
the latter part of April or in May, the 
gudgeons leave the brackish water estu- 
aries and ascend the fresh water tribu- 
taries to spawn. At the time of which 
I write they appeared in myriads and 
multitudes each season. Their appear- 
ance in the small streams was an oc- 
casion of joy and expectancy for the 
amateur angler. It was said that even 
the city council adjourned sine die, with 
the advent of the gudgeon, so that the 
city dads might have their share of the 
fishing while the brief season lasted, for 
the spawning period was of short dura- 
tion, and the silvery hordes returned to 
the brackish water bays. 
The gudgeons were fished for with 
long, light, natural cane rods, lines of 
very small caliber, or cotton thread and 
sewing silk with quill floats and split- 
shot sinkers. From two to four very 
small hooks were mounted on spreaders 
and baited with small pieces of earth- 
worms. The fish were lifted from the 
water, one to four at a time, as fast as 
the hooks could be rebaited. 
I have seen hundreds of men, women 
and children, wherever elbow room could 
be found, on the banks of the stream 
near the Relay House, nine miles from 
Baltimore on the Washington branch of 
the Baltimore & Ohio railway. 
The grown-ups put their fish in suit- 
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