May 3, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
559 
bagged only half a score of yellowlegs. This 
weighed on Jake’s spirits somewhat. 
“Why, stih, de las' time Misser Clevelan’ 
was hyiir, he plum filled one of our biggest 
bags, f’om noon ter sunset. Yass, suit. He 
sho’ did.” 
Driving back to the station and declining 
Jake's invitation to a late dinner, we gathered 
together our belongings and pushed on several 
miles further to New Inlet. Here the ocean 
breaks through a sandy barrier to pour its 
tides into the northerly end of Pamlico Sound. 
On the other side was the next station, and as 
we had telephoned ahead, a small boat was 
waiting for us at the inlet. 
Captain Wescott received us here; a fine 
looking man in his thirties, hard as nails phys¬ 
ically, and showing the good effects of open air 
life, even if accompanied by certain perils of the 
sea. He read our letters, told us to make our¬ 
selves at home and make the station our head¬ 
quarters. At that time most of his crew were 
away on furlough, so we accepted without dis¬ 
commoding any one else. That evening we 
spent in getting out our fishing tackle, for the 
inlet is renowned for the excellence of that kind 
of sport. Indeed, I have seldom anywhere had 
better results in hand-line fishing than here. 
The inlet is, perhaps, half a mile long and 
some forty or fifty rods wide. When the tide 
begins to rise then is the time that the fish make 
their way up the channel from the open sea. 
'ihese are principally sea trout, bass, skipjack, 
sheepshead, red snappers, bltiefish with other 
kinds, all eager biters yet rather capricious from 
day tO' day as to the kind of bait they would 
take most readily. The first day they bit sav¬ 
agely at any bait we offered, from bacon rind to 
clams. But the next day crab-meat appealed to 
them most; while on another, it would be live 
minnows or very small mullet. Now and then 
we would get a huge eel, which he had to kill 
with a club, to prevent its tangling our lines. 
All fishing was done with a stout hand-line 
with a heavy sinker. When the incoming or 
outgoing tides were at their swiftest, the fish 
would bite most greedily. Sea crabs bothered 
us some; for unless the fish took the bait at 
once, the great claws of some crustacean would 
grip the bait and hang on until we pulled out 
and put an end to Mr. Crab. 
Though we slew many and cussed the 
whole crab generation, their numbers were 
countless, and they are always hungry, whether 
the fish are or not. At slack water the fish 
would cease biting, but the crabs w'ere still on 
the job. The fact that w'c did not want them, 
made no difference. At last, growing tired of 
hauling in sea fish, we improvised a trolling 
line, and with the aid of a big tin spoon, some 
hooks, a few feathers, and a strand or so of 
catgut, we made, with the captain's aid, a very 
good imitation of a trolling outfit and had 
splendid sport, sailing up and down the inlet 
or rowing wdien the wind was slack, with the 
weakfish. At times w’e would hook a monster 
that would wet us from head to foot before we 
could secure it. Exhilarating? You bet! It 
put m.ere bank fishing in the shade. 
One morning about dawn Captain Wescott 
awoke us with the news that the drum were 
along shore. Quickly we were out and getting 
ready; for the coming of sea drum is like angels’ 
visits. Just as the sun came up above the 
eastern rim of blue water it found us on the 
beach. Among the incoming billows we could 
detect the interweaving of fins and tails as the 
surges swelled and shrank. Fiddlers and sand 
crabs were to be had for bait, the latter being 
taken anywhere by digging with a spade down 
a foot or so and depositing the wriggling crab 
in a large sack which was soon filled. 
The lines used are exactly like those used 
in cod fishing, thick as a lead pencil and with 
a large hook fastened to a strand of wire or 
heavy catgut. The sinkers weighed about a 
half-pound each. Removing all our clothes but 
our shirts and hats (there were no women 
about) we entered the surf to the waist and 
sent the weighted and baited hook spinning as 
far as we could out into the boiling surf. The 
captain, being a deft hand, could cast his line 
a hundred feet. I was much less dextrous. The 
point was to cast the hook out beyond the 
nearest breaker, and it requires practice as well 
as strength. The line must be held taut, for if 
a drum gets head to seaward it will almost cer¬ 
tainly break away. 
My first fish was a big one, and though I 
knew' what w'as necessary, it gave me such a 
jerk, that I reali.zed it had turned. I stumbled 
and w'ent under, but still held on. Yet the 
loose line a second later told me that my fish 
had made good his dash for freedom. My hat 
also had started for Europe, so that 1 had to 
swim a few licks to stop that voyage. 
The captain explained that the proper thing 
to do, when the drum strikes, is to run for 
shore with the line over one’s shoulder, then 
keep on going inland until your drum is landed 
high and dry on the beach. My second strike, 
however, was a beauty, its scales sparkling like 
opals in the sun, and I succeeded in landing it 
without a mishap. One of the coast-guards 
with us said it would “go eighteen pounds.” 
Four of us caught seventeen big fellows, and it 
took several hours of hard work to accomplish 
this, as eels, sea-crabs, or a shovel-nosed sh.ark 
would, four out of five times, steal our bait. 
\Ve fully enjoyed this experience with the sea- 
drum, but we were rather disappointed w'hen it 
came to eating them. Something might have 
been due to the way we cooked them. At these 
stations there is no regular cook, and with 
much of the most delectable wild foodstuff close 
at hand, our meals were by no means up to the 
Sherry or Delmonico standard. 
Fat meat fried, heavy soda biscuit, druggy 
coffee without milk, were the staple article of 
diet. When it came to cooking fish, or wild 
duck, or any other of the naturally delicious 
game foods w'hich nature so lavishly provided, 
the same frying-pan or a boiling pot w'as about 
the only method which we or the lifesavers 
could devise to make things unpalatable. Our 
only drinking water, too, was that which 
dripped from the roofs into tank cisterns; it 
was generally too warm, and often impure. 
One day,Ben, having caught a magnificent 
sheepshead that weighed over fifteen pounds, 
asked thd captain to turn him loose in the 
kitchen for an hour or two. He had privately 
told me that it was a shame that one of the 
finest fish that swims the sea should Ite chucked 
with fat pork in a pot, or fried in a skillet 
with rancid bacon. When Ben served up that 
fish it was so good and toothsome a morsel, 
with its oyster dressing, its gravy, and certain 
other spiced and oniony accessories, that Ben 
was unanimously deputed to be our company 
cook as long as we remained at the station. 
Ben grimaced some as if the promotion had its 
disadvantages, but faithfully accepted the honor 
on him thus bestowed. 
Having had enough of fishing, we started in 
a cart with our traps and decoys to a place 
about four miles south of the station. Our 
route was along a sea meadow, alternating with 
stretches of dry marsh. Then, striking a shal¬ 
low lagoon, we followed it down, Ben on foot, 
1 driving, when a brace of mallards rose up. 
Ben let drive with both barrels, getting the 
ducks, but so frightened our pony that it started 
full speed, pitching out most of our things, nor 
stopping until I steered it into a miry bit of 
marsh, where it became bogged, and so 
brought perforce to a standstill. 
We placed our decoys in a small pond, sat 
for an hour or two more without getting a 
shot, when Ben took his gun and straggled off. 
1 lit my pipe, opened the pages of a recent 
Forest and Stream, and was soon lost to my 
surroundings. 
When I finished smoking and happened to 
look up, there were a couple of willet standing 
among the deco.vs bowing and scraping to each 
other not unlike a couple about to dance. On 
my making a move, off they Hew. Presently 
along came one of our coast guards from the 
station with our dinner. No signs of Ben Bolt, 
however. While I ate my part, some gray-back 
snipe (lew by, settling on shore several hun¬ 
dred yards away. I gave my gun to the coast 
guard, who was anxious for a try at them. He 
actually crawled most of the way, yet, in spite 
of his care, they rose before he could draw bead. 
Toward night, Ben appeared, loaded down with 
snipe and duck, among them teal, widgeon and 
a real canvasback. About the time we were 
discussing when we had better start back, a 
flock of calico-backs sailed by. We fired, and 
this was the signal for a continued stream of 
bay-birds. The tide was fast rising, and we had to 
put our decoys on the higher levels of marsh and 
stand in water ourselves. The mosquitoes came out 
in force, late as it was in the season; but the 
sport was now too exciting for us to give heed 
to small annoyances. We fired away sixty odd 
shells, and only ceased when it was too dark to 
see the birds. Tired and savagely hungry we 
were, when we reached the station, but we had 
a dinner of broiled snipe, fried duck, and the 
ever-present fish, which, badly cooked as it was, 
w'e fully enjoyed. After all there is no sauce 
for good eating like the relish imparted by 
hard, out-door sport. W’e sent eight dozen 
birds to the nearby fishing village of Chicke- 
macomico, as a present to the villagers. Then 
we slept good and hard all night. 
There are two other little villages strung 
along the lengthy strip of sand between the 
ocean and the sound. These are Big Kinna- 
keet and Hatteras. The inhabitants of these 
are practically cut off from the outer world, 
living their simple, hardy lives and preserving 
their old-fashioned ways. In many usages and 
customs they are fully a hundred years behind 
the times. The w'omen are hard-working and 
uncomplaining. They are extremely religious 
and remind one in many ways of the enduring 
stoicism shown by their sisters in isolated com¬ 
munities in the Southern Appalachians. In 
