1022 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 29, 1906. 
18-foot oars, while even the small boys gave 
them advice on trimming the sails. ■ • 
Very quickly the boat was shoved off, and, 
gathering headway, fled toward Tar Bay, a 
white fog of spattered rain drops sliding over 
the sheets. The draw was open now, and with 
nearly 200 yards’ start, the captain brought the 
sloop about and crouched behind the wheel and 
stared ahead at the 26-foot opening through 
which he must take his 13-foot-wide boat. The 
gale was coming with fury, and there was no 
reef in either sail—the “Cap’n’s too mad to 
reef!”—and the boat was six streaks under as 
she came to the draw and shot through, while 
men on the end of the bridge dodged down 
because the foresail came at their heads. 
“The Cap’n’s shore mad!” a man repeated as 
he saw the boat strike out into the Honga 
under full sail. The men were hanging to the 
deck, as it heeled, and once she went so far 
over that we could see her centerboard plainly. 
Even the mad Captain couldn’t stand for that 
and had to luff up. 
“She’s got too much sail o.n! Oughter be 
double reefed!” one shouted that he might be 
heard above the storm. “Hue! Like to went 
clean over! Too much sail—that man’s a devil 
carrying sail! He’ll shore blow that stick out 
of ’er!” 
“No he won’t!” answered the man who built 
the boat, “she’ll 'go over first—I know that 
stick!” 
Then the captain, after luffing up half a dozen 
times, was seen to toss his head as though 
shouting an order. The two men scrambled 
forward and began to take in the jib, and a 
minute later they were off again. Even then, 
the baymen on the bridge, shouting glad and 
excited at the brave spectacle of the little boat 
in the gale, watched her' till she passed out of 
sight around a headland of woods. 
“Her cargo’s a-shiftin’ an’ a-slidin’—you can 
tell the way she’s handlin’!” one man exclaimed 
like a fog horn. “I bet them fish is all to the 
port side now. That’s what happened when she 
come in this mohnin’, they said.” 
And then. • as though this were not quite 
enough for the day, up spake one storm-lover 
and said: 
“By Gad! I could take my boat, and beat her 
right now!” 
It was a goodly thing to hear. I doubt if a 
man can be prouder of any possession than he 
can of his staunch, storm-defying boat. Cer¬ 
tainly, the things that plow the water are better 
to look upon than those which raise a dust. 
Raymond S. Spears. 
Hunting and Fishing Exposition. 
In May and June, 1907, there will be held at 
Antwerp, Belgium, an International Hunting and 
Fishing Exposition under the patronage of the 
King of the Belgians, and with Prince Albert 
as Honorary President. The committee 011 hunt¬ 
ing met recently at Brussels at the office of the 
Minister of Agriculture, Mr. J. Polain, director 
of a bank at Liege, in the chair. There were 
present Messrs. Chas. Francotte, Baron Fallon, 
Vander Molen, president of the executive com¬ 
mittee, Col. Liger, Lieut. Col. Tournay, Com¬ 
mandants Mathieu and Morel, Delvaux-Debreyne, 
de Contreras, general secretary of the executive 
committee. During the meeting it was decided 
that an international exhibition of hunting 
weapons should be organized during the exposi¬ 
tion. This is a project which is likely to attract 
to Belgium the nimrods of all countries. 
There will be likewise a section devoted to old- 
time hunting weapons, which will be not less at¬ 
tractive. In fact, with the well known interest of 
Messrs. Francotte and Polain, the gun factories 
of Liege‘will be brilliantly represented. The 
secretary of the exposition is Mr. J. Mertens, at 
Antwerp. 
STIMULATION WITHOUT REACTION. 
After a day of enjoyable spmort, it is wise to choose a 
drink which helps to restorde the vital powers rather than 
one which tends to deplete them, as in the case with 
many drinks. Borden’s Malted Milk is delicious, con¬ 
centrated, nourishing, invaluable to the camper, made 
ready for use by adding water, hot or cold.— Adv. 
Camp Don’t Hurry. 
III.— Fishing Begins. 
When we got hack to camp Robert had just 
returned with his catch—one German brown 
trout eighteen inches long, a real beauty. I 
noticed that he looked happy, which was nat¬ 
ural enough, but there was also a sheepish¬ 
ness about his face, which in riiy enthusiasm 
over the fish I did not try to account for. 
After a minute Henry said, “Robert, when 
I go in swimming I usually take my clothes 
off first.” 
“So do I,” said Robert, “when I have time; 
but this was a hurry call.” 
Then 1 saw that he was soaking wet, even 
to his hair and hat. Henry said, “I consider 
it going rather too far in the way of bait ex¬ 
periments, to throw one’s self in, particularly 
on the part of a person who claims never to 
use anything but flies.” 
Then Robert told us how it happened. “I 
took the rod,” said he, “just as I'd used it yes¬ 
terday on the small creek, and didn’t think 
till ’I’d started fishing that the reel only had 
fifty feet of line on it, and several years old 
at that, so it was likely weak. It didn’t seem 
as if there was chance enough of getting a 
good rise, with the water so high, to pay to 
come back to camp for another reel. After 
I’d thrashed away for half an hour among the 
boulders under the cave bank and never seen 
a fin, I tried it lower down, where the stream 
spreads out more. The third cast I made op¬ 
posite the springs, this old fellow came out 
like a skyrocket and hooked himself. I could 
see I was in for trouble, and probably goin’ 
to lose him. I didn’t believe that line would 
land a ten-inch trout iji that current. He 
started right down stream, and I followed 
along on the bank to help the line as much as 
I could; but he ran out the whole length in 
just no time. He didn’t know how near he 
had me or he wouldn’t have turned, but he 
did turn, and went up stream. That gave me 
a chance to reel in a little. Then he ran under 
a boulder and sulked for five minutes. I 
worked out into the creek, reeling in as I 
went. All at once he jumped clean out of the 
water and shook his head, but couldn’t get 
loose. Next he took for shore, and I thought 
he was goin’ clean up to camp; but he came 
back and went right by my legs, toward the 
other bank. It’s as much as a hundred yards 
across there, and I knew fifty feet of rotten 
line would never reach it, so I chased after 
him in about two feet of water and give him 
slack as fast as he went. He had most all of 
it when I stepped on a'sloping flat stone and 
began to fall. I slipped and slid, and plunged 
and lurched, till I didn’t know but I was goin’ 
to tumble clean out of the creek on the other 
side, but I couldn’t get my balance, and went 
down kersouse. Of course, I supposed I’d lost 
him, but I kept the rod above water, and that 
was all that was above, too. When I got 
righted up he was fast yet, and wheeling off 
down stream in a circle. He kept that up till 
he had worked clean around me, and never 
gave me a chance to get in anything on the 
reel. Finally he sulked again. He must have 
been there fully ten minutes, and I got pretty 
well up to him, when he let up, and sagged 
away toward the current. I could see he was 
weakening, and I played him carefully. He 
plunged two or three times more, but there 
wasn’t much spunk left in him, so I worked 
him toward shore, and was putting the net 
under him, when he made one more spurt. 
Tt didn’t last long and the next time he came 
in on his side, and that settled it. 
“After this,” Robert went on, “I bet I’ll have 
line enough so that if a fish wants to start out 
on an excursion, I won’t have to go along. I 
don't object to an occasional foot race, but 
the bottom of that creek is a mighty poor 
track. Now. you fellows trot out a hot whis¬ 
key and cook that trout—he’s so long you’ll 
have to use the pancake griddle—while I get 
on some dry duds.” 
Henry had built a table that morning, and 
we spread out supper on it right at the edge 
of the cliff, under one of the beech trees. 
From that time on this spot was our dining¬ 
room, and we never ate anywhere else, ex¬ 
cept in rainy weather, when we used to carry 
the table into a tent. The foliage on this tree 
was so dense that'we often had a meal there 
during quite a shower, without getting wet. 
After supper we sat around the fire, and dis¬ 
cussed the merits of different flies, while 
Robert told us what kinds he tried that day, 
and which one he was using when he caught 
the trout. 
“Well,” said Henry, “it's been a pretty im¬ 
portant time for you, Robert. It's not often 
that one can catch as large a fish as that and 
get baptized all in the same day.” 
. “Oh, you’re jealous,” Robert retorted, “and 
you make me think of Mary Conklin. She lived 
next door to us when I was about six years 
old. I guess she must have been a couple of 
years older than I, and she was a terribly sel¬ 
fish, hateful dispositioned youngster. I used 
to get along with her all right if people would 
let me alone; but if anybody gave me any¬ 
thing, or praised me a little, then there was 
trouble. Once I had the measles,” Robert 
continued, “and I must have been pretty sick, 
for the family got a good deal scared about it, 
and the neighbors, of course, took an interest 
and kept inquiring how I was getting along. 
Just as soon as I commenced to get a little 
better, people would bring jelly to me or any 
other thing they happened to have that was 
likely to please a boy. Of course, Mary heard 
them talking about it, and she just couldn't 
stand it to have me attracting so much atten¬ 
tion. All the jelly and kindness that I got 
was gall and wormwood to her. 
“There had been a revival going on in town 
that winter, and when it was over, of course, 
there was a lot of folks to be baptized, and 
Mary was one of them. I remember it was 
a nice, pleasant day, and I was well enough, 
so mother let me go out in the yard a little 
while, and I was out there when Mary got 
back from meeting. She ran right up to the 
fence, and sticking her spunky litle face over 
it, she snapped out, ‘There, Mr. Bruce, you 
needn’t’ be so stuck up about your old mea¬ 
sles, I’ve been baptized.’ ” 
Next morning, just at dawn, we were awak¬ 
ened by the dogs barking, and when I opened 
my eyes, the old bear hunter stood in front 
of the tents looking at us as we lay in bed, 
and he had a good-natured grin all over his 
face. Henry and I had seen him before, and 
knew his name, but we preferred to think of 
him as “the old bear hunter.” 
He was a big, sandy-faced man, powerful 
as an ox, with the mild and gentle disposition 
that is often found when strength, good di¬ 
gestion and contentment combine to bless a 
man. Fie wore rubber boots, blue overalls, 
calico shirt, faded coat, and the whole figure 
topped off by a slouch hat. A piece of cord 
slung over the shoulder held a lantern, which 
dangled by his side. In one hand was a small 
pail of live bait, and a reed fish pole, while 
with the other he carried about twenty trout 
strung on a willow crotch. 
His home was several miles up the little 
creek, which flowed by the camp, and he had' 
fished down purposely to make us an early 
call. Although fie did not say so, we knew 
perfectly well that he had taken this method 
to bring us a catch, for his long experience 
with strangers to the mountains had taught 
him to doubt the ability of new-comers, so 
far as catching trout was concerned. It was 
a labor of. love on his part. To wander along 
the stream in the middle of the night and lis¬ 
ten to the night sounds, with the prospect of 
bringing up in the morning at a camp where 
there would be men of his own taste, and a 
good warm breakfast, was his idea of enjoy¬ 
ment. 
The dogs stopped barking and came wig¬ 
gling around him, as if they had always known 
him—dogs are pretty good judges of human 
nature. We all turned out to give the visitor 
a welcome,'and in a few minutes the fires were 
