402 
FOREST AND STREAM 
August, 1919 
JAMES ALEXANDER HENSHALL 
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE APOSTLE OF THE BLACK BASS, 
FATHER OF THE GRAYLING AND DEAN OF AMERICAN ANGLERS 
FOURTH PAPER 
T he estuary known as Spring Garden 
was a convenient and popular re- 
sort for bathing, fishing and boating 
for the people, old and young, of Balti- 
more. It was of an irregular, oblong 
form, and about two miles wide, when I 
was a lad, but has since steadily de- 
creased in volume and attractiveness, 
owing to the encroachment of the city 
and various industrial activities. On 
the farther shore there was a resort pop- 
ularly known as the “Fish House,” which 
in modern parlance would be consider_d 
a combination of beach resort, road house 
and country club. It could be reached by 
water or by driving over a long pile 
bridge. It was much frequented by pleas- 
ure seekers, picnickers and fishing par- 
ties, where they feasted on “all the deli- 
cacies of the season,” including oysters, 
fish, soft-shelled crabs and terrapin. 
Its cuisine, as I realized in later years, 
would not suffer by a comparison 
with the Maryland Club, of Baltimore, 
or Dorian’s, of Fulton Market, or old 
Delmonico’s on Fifth Avenue, New 
York. 
While fishing in Spring Garden one 
day Johnnie and I were bragging 
about our prowess in swimming which 
ended finally in a wager whereby we 
were to attempt to swim from Bailey’s 
to the Fish House, about two miles, as 
just stated. The terms, mutually 
agreed upon, provided that we would 
be accompanied by a referee in a row 
boat who would carry our clothes, and 
be ready and handy to take in out of 
the wet the one who gave up the con- 
test. The stake was to be a dinner 
at the Fish House for three, to be 
paid for by the loser. Accordingly, 
the next Saturday the referee, an 
older companion, a high-school boy 
named Robert and ourselves started 
in a boat rowed by Robert from Bailey’s 
wharf, and to preserve the conventions 
of custom and to satisfy the social a;nen- 
ities, he rowed several rods from shore 
before we divested ourselves of our 
clothing. 
At that time the legitimate drama was 
in the ascendancy; vaudeville and mov- 
ing pictures were unknown and opera 
bouffe and burlesque blondes had not been 
heard of. Boys who attended theaters 
were more or less familiar with tragedy 
and melodrama. Johnnie and I had fre- 
quently sat spellbound under the ravings 
of Edwin Forest Gus Adams, the elder 
Booth and other famous tragedians. So 
we considered it a matter of course and 
one quite appropriate to the occasion 
when the referee Robert dramatically de- 
claimed : 
“Dar’st thou, Cassius, now 
Leap with me into the angry flood. 
And swim to yonder point?” 
Then descending from his Thespian high- 
horse to the water level he vociferated: 
“One for the money; two for the show; 
Three to make ready, and four for the 
go!” 
At the word “go” we plunged in head- 
first and the game was on. 
We were both well fit and started off 
in fine fettle, swimming easily and 
abreast of each other until half way over, 
when both began to lag and to resort to 
the expedients of swimming on the back, 
floating and “treading water” to rest 
ourselves. We were beginning to tire and 
would gladly have welcomed any excuse 
for calling the match off ; but we were 
also both game and stuck bravely to the 
task. 
I remember looking grudgingly at the 
referee rowing leisurely and comfortably 
along, gracefully feathering his oars and 
bantering and encouraging us by turns. 
A leaping black bass 
I thought how willingly I would have 
paid for the dinner could I have changed 
places with him; but our mettle was up, 
and both Johnnie and I seemed deter- 
mined to abide the issue if possible. 
Johnnie was fortified by having eel-skins 
tied about his ankles to ward off cramps, 
so there was nothing for it but to con- 
tinue to the bitter end. Then, at last, 
not a minute too soon the boat grounded 
on the beach at a secluded spot, when the 
referee helped us both ashore, where we 
threw ourselves, dog tired, on the grassy 
bank. 
It was quite a creditable performance 
for two ten-year-old lads; the dis- 
tance was greater than that at the Dar- 
danelles where Leander nightly swam 
across to meet his sweetheart Hero. And 
Leander’s stunt was achieved also by 
Lord Byron, though handicapped by a 
club foot, and without the hope of the 
prospective reward of a welcome by the 
fair priestess. ArG as Robert said, the 
feat of Johnnie and myself was a more 
commendable one than that of the bold, 
bald Caesar, who, after his bombastic 
challenge to Cassius, was soon forced to 
cry “Help, Cassius, or I sink!” 
After resting we put on our clothes 
and rowed to the Fish House, where, 
seated at a table under a shady arbor, we 
regaled ourselves with a most satisfac- 
tory repast, the score of which, on the in- 
sistence of Robert, was settled by him- 
self. 
T he volunteer fire department of Bal- 
timore, seventy years ago, was a 
very efficient organization, all things 
considered. Each company vied with the 
others to be the first to get water on the 
fire, and to do its level best to extinguish 
it. This commendable rivalry, however, 
sometimes engendered a bitter feeling. 
After fighting the fire to a finish they 
proceeded to fight each other; so that 
the city authorities thought it neces- 
sary to confine the efforts of such com- 
panies to their own districts in order 
to prevent hostile meetings. 
We boys, of course, in imitation and 
emulation of the fighting companies, 
organized ourselves into clans or 
bands, each occupying a dozen or 
more city blocks, which we controlled 
by right of possession. We rallied 
under various formidable names such 
as Tigers, Hornets and other pug- 
nacious appellations, and whenever 
two hostile bands met there ensued a 
well-fought scrimmage, or a more or 
less serious melee. 
I was always pretty handy with 
tools, so several of my comrades and 
I built a miniature fire engine, the 
box being about five feet in length, 
two feet wide and a foot deep. It 
was painted a vivid red with black 
borders, and the name “Hornet” 
painted on the sides. I drew a plan 
for two simple piston pumps and an 
air chamber which I took to a tinsmith 
to make. The pumps were cylindrical, 
about three inches in diameter and a 
foot long, the air chamber being of 
greater diameter. The tinsmith looked 
at the drawing somewhat critically, and 
asked : 
“Who made this plan?” I replied: “I 
did.” Then he looked at me and then at 
the drawing again, and said : 
“Where did you learn anything about 
force-pumps?” 
“In my book of natural philosophy and 
physics, and by examining the fire en- 
gines when they were being cleaned after 
a fire.” 
“You would make a good mechanical 
engineer,” he then said, and added, “I 
will make this job, and if it works I will 
charge you only for the material.” 
The “job” was a success, and to the 
admiration of the tinsmith it threw water 
onto the roof of his two-story shop. I 
