362 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Sept. 20, 1913. 
have never in the slightest been known to have 
crossed the sacred precincts of the law with a 
destructive hand, and let this blaze out as the 
one time I was led in the name of the fishing 
fever. 
I gave Julius my word of honor that he 
might as well count me in on the deal, law or 
no law, but inwardly I had a feeling of mush 
and cornflakes. This feeling did not leave me. 
In the day that followed I laid out plans how 
I was going to act in the court room. I saw 
myself led forward, the heavy chains clanking, 
and the balls of iron rolling hither and thither 
behind me in a most crazy manner. I saw the 
judge adjust his spectacles and in a long and 
sonorous voice mete out my doom. I heard the 
court caller cry out, “O yez—O yez,” but in¬ 
wardly I hollered, “O no—O no.” Not having 
been inside of a court room in my life even to 
this day, it is little wonder that I conjured up 
most horrible and lamenting scenes soon to fol¬ 
low. But I allowed myself resistless to be led. 
The problem stands out in all its ghastly nudity 
as my supreme fishing felony. 
Ten o’clock of the eventful night roved 
around. Wolfe, when he started out to take 
Quebec on that night of long ago, could have 
felt no better than I. My heart hit against my 
ribs so that I knew there was a dent upon them. 
The hand that held the tackle box was cold as 
ice. Courage lay paralyzed; hope stood afar off 
on the pinnacles of life, waving a fond farewell 
with a tear-wet handkerchief. I turned once 
and looked, and saw hope sobbing wildly. My 
end of the canoe falling upon my head, the next 
moment, to remind me that we were “off,” 
brought me to, and the ‘‘funeral possession” 
started. Through raspberry tangles we flound¬ 
ered. It seemed by intention that fate had pre¬ 
pared for 11s knee-deep beds of dead and dry 
and crisp leaves, so that as much noise as pos¬ 
sible could be made by our progress. We lurched 
across the dense tract drunkenly and it was dark. 
Night lay around us, a mystery unsolved, 
silent, impenetrable, great folds upon great folds, 
on and still on. no relief of light, the moon be¬ 
hind inky clouds offering not one vestige of re¬ 
deeming radiance. For this I was momentarily 
thankful. After what seemed ages we reached 
the boulevard, crossed it as cautiously as a pair 
of lynxes, and finally stood where the waves were 
lapping the sands with small tongues of music; 
“Well, we're here. Bob,” said Julius, and 
happiness was profoundly evident in his voice. 
“We’re here. We’ll make for the boat house 
over there. Just off of Stoney Point.” 
Stoney Point was named so by myself years 
ago, and the name still lingers there. Not one 
foot of those shores but has known my tread a 
thousand times off Stoney Point. We were 
started in practically a few minutes. Two pad¬ 
dles slipped into resistless water, and we glided 
forth upon the lake and slowly we made out 
across that forbidding expanse. As I have said, 
night lay around us, silent and impenetrable. I 
could not see two feet ahead of us. There was 
the darkness and solemnity of a tomb upon the 
face of the barely stirred water. Only the drip- 
drip from the paddle blades gave evidence of 
our presence in the world of sound. 
Pausing, finally having reached a spot in 
question designated by Julius as a “fish hole,” 
we listened intently for two and one-half ages, 
hut seemingly no sound arose around us. 
With a steady hand I cast the first bait of 
the season, and as I thought the first upon the 
waters of Lake Harriet that year, Julius fol¬ 
lowed suit, his noiseless reel barely making any 
sound whatever. I now knew that there was 
ample use for a reel that does not shout its 
presence to the four corners of the earth. The 
moonlight baits and the coaxers were doing 
their best to call up any wandering finny deni¬ 
zens, but no success waited upon us. A moment 
later, or it might have been a century, vibrated 
over the water a sound that electrified me and 
sent a thrill up my spine. Julius likewise heard 
it. We sat motionless as two graven statues. 
“It seems to me I heard a fish splash there 
inshore,” whispered a voice in the haunted 
solemnity of the greater gloom. “Didn’t you 
hear something?” 
“Oh, they're here all right; they’re here. 
Try once and see what you get,” said a second 
voice, pregnant with confidence. 
It is hard to say how we felt, having thor¬ 
oughly digested this information. I lifted my 
paddle instinctively to lend speed to purpose. 
Never did the chains clank so grimly, and the 
voice of the judge sound so suggestively. But 
the next moment there plumped into the brim 
near to us a phosphorescent bait, directed with 
such accuracy toward the “sound,” that it al¬ 
most hit our canoe. By mutual consent, trans¬ 
mitted along waves of self-preserving instinct, 
we slipped out of the danger zone, and just as 
we slipped by a bait was hurled toward us with 
even greater accuracy that in the former in¬ 
stance. What Julius said I refrain from setting 
to paper, but suffice to relate that we lost no 
time in getting away, our hearts hammering a 
tattoo against swooning ribs. 
We may have progressed about a mile, I do 
not profess to know, but we suddenly brought 
up, stricken by a sound that spoke louder than 
any words. There was a sound of oars whining 
pitiously in ungreased locks; it seemed before 
us, right in our path. 
“By heavens, what’s that?” said Julius, but 
I could not speak. T was listening with two ears 
and two hands and two very restless feet. Like 
a blot on the greater darkness we poised on the 
ocean of doom, only the small waves chattering 
limpidly along the canoe side. Suddenly the boat 
stopped; we heard a voice: “What are you fel¬ 
lows doing out here?” 
To me Julius chokingly commanded: “Shut 
up; don't say a word.” 
And now of all things the unasked for hap¬ 
pened. The moon having lolled languorously be¬ 
hind the inky clouds, suddenly took it into its 
head to come out and smile for a space upon a 
silent and murmurless world. Slowly the dark 
began to lift and a wan pall alone lay upon the 
waters. Stray bars of silver momentarily rested 
upon the seemingly measureless expanse, and we 
could see what lay before us. Frightfully close 
to us loomed up the apparent shape of the row¬ 
boat, and closer to it lay another blot which 
told of another craft. 
The man in the boat rowed nearer to it. 
“What are you fellows doing out here?” the 
voice demanded a second time of the other blot, 
which lay motionless, waiting like a prey about 
to be seized and ravaged. “I have heard noises 
out here all evening. You fellows fishing?” 
This information was sufficient. A word to 
the wise should be taken care of and scrupulous¬ 
ly guarded and enshrined and fervently wor¬ 
shipped in the Temple of Heed. Like a bird our 
craft swung like a leaf on still autumnal waters, 
two paddles dipped like fairy wands deep with 
a religious purpose in view, two lithe bodies 
bent forward, four strong arms braced quivering 
and irresolute muscles. Lightly rose the canoe 
and glided and detached itself from the greater 
shadows. Two hearts fled impetuously shore¬ 
ward, and as Julius afterward characterized it 
in. a more sane mood, “Hope run ahead of us 
like a jackrabbit.” When we reached shore, 
without a word we lifted the canoe out, bade to 
look not once upon the receding lake. Up rose 
the craft to impulsive shoulders and soon there¬ 
after a gentle tap-tap as of feet hurrying through 
the abysmal dark parted the silence that lay 
along the upper boulevard. Finally we turned 
up Penn avenue, and only when we were some¬ 
where in the neighborhood of wild and lonely 
Fiftieth street. West, way down in the gloom- 
impregnated hollows, did we pause. 
“Yuh got everything (meaning the rod) 
along?” I licked my parched lips; my breath 
wheezing, my heart floating somewhere below 
my kidneys. 
“Got everything!” echoed Julius. “Didn’t 
you throw your rod in the lake when I did?” 
I reeled, caught blindly in the air for sup¬ 
port, tottered and swayed, and then sagged limply 
to the ground. For it was my best rod! 
The Biggest Pair of Tusks. 
In the stables of the Royal Palace at 
Mandalay, in Burma, says Wide World, there 
may be seen an elephant with a remarkable 
pair of tusks, which the Burmese declare are 
the largest in the world. These gigantic tusks 
measure as much as seven feet nine inches 
on the outside curve, with a greatest circum¬ 
ference of no less than seventeen inches. To 
naturalists the most extraordinary point about 
these tusks, which are still being carried by 
their ovvner, is that they virtually touch the 
ground and almost meet. Apparently, how¬ 
ever, their owner experiences no inconven¬ 
ience from these long and cumbrous appen¬ 
dages while taking exercise. As a zoological 
curiosity the elephant has naturally attracted 
wide attention, and it is said that several offers 
have already been received for the tusks when 
the animal should see fit to depart this world. 
Hendersonville, N. C., Sept. 10— Editor 
Forest and Stream: In common no doubt with 
the great majority of your readers have very 
thoroughly enjoyed the letters written so many 
years ago and reproduced in the issue of Aug. 
16, “A Week with the Old Masters.” 
Ernest L. Ewbank. 
Chicago, Ill., Sept. 3, — Editor Forest and 
Stream: It seems odd to get a letter with the 
title of Forest and Stream at its head. I 
worked on the old paper for very many years. 
You are working on the oldest and cleanest of 
the sporting journals of America. 
Emerson Hough. 
Tupelo, Miss., Aug. 25. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: Please mail me several copies of Forest 
and Stream of Aug. 16. The number was a 
grand one. J. A. Henshall. 
