104 
FOREST AND STREAM 
July 26, 1913 
Stories of the Squirming Eel 
Collected by ALEX. McD. STODDARD 
F IRST let Senator Root tell his famous eel 
story: 
“An old darky was fishing. He 
pulled in a magnificent bass. He took it off 
the hook and held it in his hand, looked at it 
and threw it back contemptuously: 
“ ‘When I go eelin’,’ he said, ‘I go eelin',’ ” 
* * * 
A stout man and a thin man went to Edge- 
mere, Long Island, to try their skill at bobbing 
for eels. They arrived safely at their destina¬ 
tion, but their lack of knowledge in navigation 
almost proved fatal. They rowed out to a spot 
where they thought the eels were thickest, 
dropped two anchors—one fore, the other aft— 
and started bobbing. They were successful in 
landing a mess of eels. 
In the excitement of bobbing they forgot 
that the wind was blowing, and their anchors 
were dragging. At last they “woke up,” hauled 
in anchors and made for the shore. As the 
boat grounded the stout man leaped ashore. 
The boat overturned. The thin man got a duck¬ 
ing. The eels skidooed. 
* * * 
H. K. Greenhalgh. of Yonkers, is respon¬ 
sible for this: 
“While fishing from the recreation pier at 
Yonkers, where 1 angle every day in season, I 
had the pleasure of hooking into something 
very heavy, and as there is about a ton of lead 
sinkers and leaders too numerous to mention, I 
thought probably I was in a mess of them and 
would reel them in slowly, so I would not lose 
them. The object, however, proved to be an 
umbrella which I dried and tied on the back 
of my chair to shield me from the sun. 
“I was not out long again when I hauled 
up a beer glass, this having been lost from one 
of the excursion boats which left our pier this 
season. 
“Imagine my surprise and that of the 
audience who were jollying and jesting at my 
expense when I hauled up two bottles of beer 
and an eel which weighed y / 2 pounds. 
“The tables turned as to the jollying when 
I opened the beer, and had the pleasure of par¬ 
taking of it before my large and enthusiastic 
audience. 
“This story I can prove by the testimony of 
Joseph Francis, of Yonkers, and Charles Smith, 
of Haw avenue, Yonkers, and Herman 
Zuelch, who were witnesses.” 
* * * 
This story is touched up by John 
O’Keefe: 
“Isaac Smalovitz dived into the big 
plunge in the Turkish bath house at No. 
178 Norfolk street, where about twenty 
swimmers were already enjoying them¬ 
selves. He put his feet on the bottom, 
and felt something cold and round and 
slippery. It wiggled, and Ikey did not 
wait for further investigation. 
“ ‘Oi, oi!’ he yelled, leaping franti¬ 
cally for the ladder. - A snake! a snake!’ 
“Instantly every other man in the 
pool felt in imagination a cold and slippery coil 
about his ankles. There was one unanimous yell, 
and the water was torn into foam by the mad 
scramble of a score of wet bodies for the 
ladder. 
“Slipping, falling, rolling over, stepping on 
one another, the entire twenty gained the tiles 
of the bathroom floor and fled. They did not 
care where they were going. The one thought 
was to escape front the dread terror in the pool. 
Every one of them was firmly convinced that a 
thirty-foot sea-serpent or a monster devil-fish 
was lurking there, ready to devour. 
“Herman Kornowitz, proprietor of the 
baths, who had been aroused by the tumult, 
entered the empty plunge room. He is a large 
and slow moving person, of placid tempera¬ 
ment. 
“‘Ach, Himmell’ he murmured. ‘Such an 
annoyance! Gross, empty now the pool and 
let’s see what has frightened them.’ 
“The water was drawn from the pool and 
there on the clean, white floor lay squirming a 
long, black eel.” 
* * 
This'story of a lone eel which worried two 
bureaus is' in the words of Fletcher E. Cooper: 
“Capt. Michael J. Hayes, of the good ship 
Fidelity of the Charities Department Service, 
lying at East Twenty-sixth street, decided on a 
late afternoon to make one more trip to the 
island and incidentally give the deck hands a 
ride. 
“Sticking his head out of the pilot house, 
he shouted to little Bill Jones, a deck hand, to 
give the boilers some water, as Engineer Ed¬ 
wards reported them a little dry. So Bill 
dragged the big hose to the pier, attached it 
to the fire hydrant and turned the screw with 
his trusty wrench. He whistled and waited, but 
no water came. 
“‘Hey, Bill! what’s the matter?’ yelled the 
Captain. 
“ ‘No water ahead, sir,’ reported Bill. 
“The Captain looked forward, but the river 
was still there. 
“ ‘Say, get a hustle on and stop that non¬ 
sense,’ ordered the irritated boss of the ship. 
“ ‘But I can’t,’ answered Bill at the pump. 
‘The pipe’s froze up.’ 
“Two other boarders on the good ship 
were sent to the Water Department branch at 
the end of East Twenty-fourth street to get 
help. A couple of brawny persons with a moun¬ 
tain of tools appeared about ten minutes after¬ 
ward. 
“ ‘Well, go ahead and inspect. There’s the 
pump,’ said the boss of the Fidelity. 
“The inspectors first inspected, then oper¬ 
ated on the hydrant. After removing some of 
the parts the smaller of the two pump doctors 
shoved his hand down the pipe. He quickly 
withdrew it. yelling. ‘Wow! It bit me.’ 
“The other inspector poked in the pipe 
with a hook and brought forth an end of an 
eel. The eel was dragged out in seven sections, 
like a delicatessen store eel. It was about four 
inches in diameter and over three feet long. 
“ ‘Guess that fellow was going South for 
the winter and got into the wrong alley,’ said 
Captain Hayes. 
“ ‘Well, he’s going in the pickle jar,’ said 
Bill Jones as he gathered up the pieces. ‘You 
are all invited to the banquet.’ 
“It was noticed that no one accepted Bill’s 
invitation. 
“The hydrant was assembled, the water was 
turned on, the boiler got a drink and the good 
ship Fidelity with her faithful crew headed for 
Blackwell’s Island. 
* * * 
James Carr Garrison put his fine Italian 
hand to this narrative: 
“George Washington Plunkitt, some time 
author and all the time philosopher, tucked him¬ 
self in the bath tub at his home, No. 323 West 
Fifty-fifth street, New York. Mr. Plunkitt 
turned on the faucet and waited. Several sec¬ 
onds elapsed without any water putting in an 
appearance, but Mr. Plunkitt did not get 
peevish. He settled back in the tub and placed 
one of his big toes where the first drop would 
be sure to kiss it. Five, ten, fifteen minutes 
passed and not a splash. The Plunkitt spokes 
were fast assuming a baby blue complexion, 
while the rest of his six feet was acquiring a 
sandpaper finish. 
"The temptation to use a little soiled 
language at this point was mighty strong, but 
Mr. Plunkitt controlled himself. That faucet 
always had been regular in its habits, and, be¬ 
ing a regular organization democrat himself, he 
wanted to give it every chance to make good. 
Reversing his position, an operation that 
knocked off a few goose pimples, he leaned over, 
and looked up the faucet as far as he could. 
Not a drop in sight. He placed his ear against 
it and listened intently. Not a sound to indi¬ 
cate the approach of a little juice. By this 
time he was not so particular in his choice of 
expressions. 
“Leaping over the dashboard of the tub, 
he wrapped himself in his pale pink slumber 
robe, dashed down to the kitchen and squeezed 
the faucet. Nix again. Resuming his journey 
to the parlor, he lifted the front window and 
gazed westward toward where the majestic 
Hudson was going right by Ffty-first street as 
if it had never heard of such a street. After 
making sure there really was water in the river, 
