852 
FOREST AND STREAM 
“promised forth,” as Mr. M. had kindly invited 
me to participate in the enjoyment of his “recent 
catch.” “Oh, don’t try and be polite in expressing 
regrets to me. I fully appreciate the situation,” 
and with a smiling wink, “I’ve been young my¬ 
self, and you are a ‘game sport,’ go it while you 
are young. I congratulate you upon having such 
charming friends. Mr. M. is a most companion¬ 
able fisherman, and his charming daughter is a 
beautiful dancer; hope I’ll see you out in full 
array to-morrow evening.” And he sure did. 
The wounded finger received very careful at¬ 
tention, for I saw to it that the dressings were 
renewed once each day (until a firm healing by 
granulation was induced) with the efficient assist¬ 
ance of the daughter of the home; finally my com¬ 
panion on the pier announced his desire and readi¬ 
ness to finish out our interrupted sport. We met 
again at rise of sun, well equipped for a good, 
hard set-to with the game snappers, if it con¬ 
sumed the entire forenoon. We could not count 
upon extending it into the afternoon, for Mr. M. 
had a most enticing hammock on his shady piazza, 
where he enjoyed the daily siestas, while fanned 
by gentle zephyrs from the great, blue Gulf, and 
I could not image a more delightful place for 
genuine relaxation, with the current of business 
cares and worries shut off and memories of the 
busy life conflicts all blown away on sweet saline 
breezes. Mr. M. was an eminent lawyer with 
large business interests upon him. Counsel foi a 
big railroad system, etc.; hence he needed a re¬ 
laxed sojourn by the quiet Gulf, and often told 
me he found it nowhere else, so complete and 
satisfactory. My afternoons were usually spent 
with Colonel C., the pleasant host, and a cigar, 
for an hour after dinner; then a good book, 
under the live oak tree, though the book was not 
kept open as long as my mouth was when the 
somnolent influence from the Gulf and the entire 
surroundings got in its work. The Colonel would 
sometimes say: “I was just coming out to have 
another smoke with you, but when I saw your 
mouth wide open, I knew that you were in no 
condition to bite off the end of a Key West. 
So I deferred the pleasure.” I was always 
called veturesome so when we met on the 
pier I discovered an attractive cork boat, 
bobbing up and down, at the foot of the stairs 
leading down to the water. (I never did find out 
what it was there for or who owned it), though 
we made use of it for diving in the late after¬ 
noon, while in bathing, and I was about to find 
out another use for it, as a good place to fish from. 
Mr. M. laughed and said, “Why, you will soon 
imagine that you are on the cork instead of its 
being on your line.” However, I wanted to try 
the experiment, and I found it a real, live inter¬ 
esting adventure, that Mr. M. told of afterward 
to his family, as being the most amusing fishing 
experience that he had ever witnessed, and 1 had 
the satisfaction of affording my companion a rare 
entertainment, over which he laughed so im¬ 
moderately that he was forced to give up fishing 
for a time. I never experienced the sensation of 
seasickness, though I have been frequently on the 
ocean and, in rough weather; but there was just 
enough motion in the great blue deep to keep 
the fifteen-foot cork boat on a constant “bob.” 
After finding a secure seat, I threw out an invi¬ 
tation for Mr. Snapper to have a bite with me, 
just after sunrise, and they are usually hungry 
duffers (whether that characteristic gave them 
the name or not, I never heard; at all events, I did 
not wait a great while to feel a vigorous pull on 
the line; it was my first experience of that kind 
of a pull, but I knew that “Sumthin’ was doin.” 
real good and proper, and if the darned old cork 
boat had not been chained and locked securely 
to the pier steps, I would doubtless have had a 
free boat ride out to sea, for the fish started on 
the run. Mr. M. called out to me instructions 
as to how to play him, though, as I told him 
afterward that I could not at the moment of 
action see when the play come in, for I was let¬ 
ting the fish run without knowing how, for he 
wanted to go before changing his course. (In 
hunting foxes, I knew that when the chase went 
straight away, the fox would almost invariably 
come back on or near his former course, barring 
accidents or unforeseen hindrance), though I had 
not had enough acquaintance with a blooming 
runner down under the indigo water to ever guess 
how far he might go; finally, just before I came 
to the conclusion to reel in, the line fouled 
in some way in my over-hanging apparel, or, 
rather, I should say, the reel did, as I was not 
an expert in handling it and, just at that time 
wished I had been; then a sudden and violent 
jerk. I was not “sitting” very tight. True, not 
much force was required to topple me and over 
I went into the water. I was a good swimmer 
and did not get frightened by the waves, and 
turn loose my rod, though there was a strong 
pull from the other end of the line to influence 
my doing so. In a few seconds my companion 
had run down the steps to my aid and somehow 
I managed to iiaul away and gain enough slack 
to hand him the rod, at the same time feeling 
proud to know that the snapper was coming some, 
even though I was badly submerged. And when 
the master hand got a grip on the rod, I smiled 
and said to myself, I can just as easily enjoy a 
good swim while the snapper is on his way to the 
landing place. So I swam round, came up to the 
steps in time to handle the dip net again and 
scoop up another “rip snorter,” my first red 
snapper, and he was the biggest, prettiest fish 
that I ever hooked; and a good fighter, as he 
had scored the first knockdown, but not out. 
We fished until about ten o’clock, and Mr. M. 
succeeded in landing another good prize; they 
were all fast and furious fighters. The air was 
mild and warm, and I paid no attention to wet 
clothes. By the time our sport ended I was as 
dry as a powder horn and accompanied my friend 
home to help carry his fish and mine, which I 
wanted to present to the “lady of the house.” 
She accepted it gracefully on conditions that I 
would come and help them eat fish. Such con¬ 
ditions were not hard to me as you can imagine. 
Mr. M. and I enjoyed one or two more set-tos 
with the red sports and landed two more smaller 
fish, though all of them that I met were game to 
the core. Whenever I have stopped at New 
Orleans en passant, I always ordered red snapper 
for luncheon or dinner in season, for I enjoy, 
not only the taste, but the association brought 
back memoirs of the happy days spent at “The 
Pass.” That visit had rather a peculiar and in¬ 
teresting ending. On Thursday night, while the 
weekly hotel “German” was in full swing, a wire 
message came in from Biloxi that yellow fever 
had broken out there and that New Orleans would 
soon establish a quarantine. The guests could not 
leave until early morning, as there would be no 
trains hence. We of the dance continued the 
hilarity of the light fantasitc with pretty girls 
and good partners, in forgetfulness of an im¬ 
pending danger, and when the last figure had been 
danced, somewhere in the small hours, the 
greatest commotion of baggage smashing began: 
trunks were heard tumbling everywhere. I felt 
very sorry for Colonel C., who looked discouraged 
at the prospect of having his hotel depopulated. I 
should have stayed to try and condole with him, 
but for two reasons, viz.: I did not wish to be 
quarantined against getting home (as we had to 
pass through New Orleans) ; and I disliked to 
remain after my genial fishing companion and 
friend, with his family, took their departure. 
So a grand rush was made for the first train 
toward New Orleans. We managed to get seats 
for the two ladies, and then contented ourselves 
with standing room in the aisle near them. 
I have had the good fortune to enjoy red 
snapper and “sheepshead” frequently at the New 
Orleans restaurants since that period, though 
have never had the opportunity for trying an¬ 
other fight with the “dead game sports of the 
Mexican Gulf.” 
Boston, June 6, 1914. 
Editor Forest and Stream'- 
Your Massachusetts readers will be interested 
to learn that Dr. George W. Field, Chairman of 
our State Commission, assisted by Chief Warden 
Bourne, is giving an illustrated lecture on the 
game birds of Massachusetts. Your correspond¬ 
ent had the pleasure of hearing the Doctor at the 
recent midsummer meeting of the Eastern 
Massachusetts Fish and Game Protective Asso¬ 
ciation, held in Odd Fellows Hall, Reading. The 
president, Mr. Charles H. Nowell, presided and, 
considering the season, there was a good at¬ 
tendance of the members, representing several 
towns of that section of the state. 
The pictures thrown upon the screen furnished 
excellent representations of partridges in their 
covers, illustrating their breeding habits, nests 
and characteristics; also of the heath-hens of 
Martha’s Vineyard, as well as quail and mallard 
ducks in the wild state. Several of the illustra¬ 
tions were so good as to bring forth a round of 
applause from the audience, which was composed 
chiefly of men accustomed to the pursuit of game 
with dog and gun. Among the well-known 
sportsmen in attendance were Mr. Vinton W. 
Mason, the efficient secretary of the association; 
Mr. James A. Baxter, the well-known dog 
trainer; Mr. Martin F. Holt, who was active in 
organizing the club about ten years ago; Messrs. 
F. L. Springford, Charles Caustic, of Cambridge; 
George M. Poland, Esq., of Wakefield; Eugene 
Philbrook, of Andover; L. A. Penney, and E. 
Horne, of Somerville. 
The lecture brought home to the hearers the 
game birds to be found within 'the confines of 
our own state and had been delivered in the 
Brewster Museum in Brattle Street, Cambridge, 
before members of the celebrated Nuttall Club. 
It has also been delivered before the Board of 
Trade in Everett, Mass. Your correspondent 
hopes it will be repeated in many other cities and 
towns of the commonwealth. 
H. H. KIMBALL. 
