FOREST AND STREAM. 
3 


tion and extreme cold. At another time welistened to rem- 
iniscences of the camp, and stirring scenes of chase after 
moose and bear. 
As the sun sank in the western ocean, the rocky coast 
and lofty mountains blended in one indistinct outline. We 
still lingered on the deck. It was a glorious night, and we 
“sat long, watching the many-hued shafts of the northern 
lights, radiating from the central orb, shoot in strange fan- 
tastic columns across the sky, now brightly flashing, illu- 
minating the whole arch of heaven, now gradually dying 
away in faintest coloring, only to be again succeeded by 
fresh tinted rays. The moon hadrisen high in the heavens, 
—‘‘gaudentque cadentia sidera somnos’—before we betook 
ourselves to rest. _ Lieut.R. Hurcuinson Por, R. N. 
[To be Continued. | 
AUild Sishing Among the Hraas. 
OFF THE COAST OF AFRICA. 
Denar Mr. Eprror :— 
Did you ever go fishing with a shot gun ? 
This is no conundrum for you to simply “give up,” and 
expect a ‘‘sell” to reveal itself in the answer, for J have, and 
have fugged home such noble specimens of the finny tribe 
as seldom fall to the low of wandering fishermen. Don’t 
puzzle your brains now by traversing in your memory the 
grand old sylvan temples of the Adirondacks, nor plunge 
still deeper into the wilder virgin forests of the ‘‘S@hoodic 
Regions” in search of a locality where such perversion of 
the piscatorial art could be practiced with success. Neither 
the famed Long Island trout ponds nor the fishing grounds 
and banks along our sea-coast would furnish a favorable re- 
sponse to such an unusual invocation. 
On a wilder, rugged, barren shore, where great masses of 
naked, rocky hills, bearing naught but an ever-shifting bur- 
then of flying sand, loom up, grey, arid and hot ; where the 
fierce sun of the tropics sends day after day from a cloud- 
less sky its scorching beams, to burn, wither and destroy 
utterly all trace of life ; where man dwells not, nor beasts 
sojourn ; there, on the land where all is wrapt in the solemn 
silence of an African desert, Nature still maintains a bal- 
ance, and, driven from the inhospitable shore, animal life 
seeks the all-embracing ocean, and the blue waters beating 
on the rugged beach fairly teem with animation. Fish of 
all sorts, sizes and descriptions abound, from the mammoth 
whale down through all grades of size to the tiny sardines, 
flying in countless thousands from the pursuit of voracious 
enemies. Away up inasheltered corner of this beautiful 
bay extends fora mile a pure white sandy beach, which 
preserves for rods its gentle slope. There our Kroo-boys 
haul the seine: No rocks nor coral reef to tear the yielding 
meshes, but a smooth, sloping floor, soft and pleasant to 
their bare feet as they wade about or stand each like an 
ebony Hercules. With the strength of Titans they make 
sport of the heavy haul as the cork beacons come, one after 
another, closing in and narrowing down that as yet unex- 
plored centre—centre of all our thoughts, hopes and wishes. 
With shouts and songs and wild and savage dances of joy 
and excitement, the net. comes slowly in, and fathom after 
fathom is piled upon the beach. Then the huge bag, with 
its glistening, quivering, springing mass, comes surging into 
view. Like a roll of moving quicksilver seems the glimpse 
we catch of the contents of our trap. Until this supreme 
moment ‘‘Black Will” and ‘‘Tom Limerick” have preserved 
their dignity. They are ‘‘Head Kroomen,” and get a dol- 
lar each more, monthly, than the others. They feel to the 
utmost the pride and dignity of rank, with more wages, 
more brains, more strength, more wives than all the rest to- 
gether, and with more gay silk handkerchiefs treasured up 




in their dirty bags since our visit to St. Helena. Each hand- 
_ kerchief is destined, without transformation, to furnish a 
complete suit of clothes to one of said wives. They have 
so far played the officer and directed ; now they spring to it 
with a will and encouraging shouts, and the great muscles 
of their chests and arms swell into cordage in alto-relief as 
they add in their powerful assistance. 
And so into the shoal water comes the silvery mass, strug- 
gling helplessly, and our haul is successful. 
But look out! Not quite so sure a thing after all. A sudden, 
violent threshing and vigorous beating of the water into 
foam—a quick, momentary dispersion of the Kroomen with 
shrieks, half in terror, half in fun, and in the deeper part of 
the net, where he had lagged sullenly back till the last, is 
seen a great, dark monster, with horrid, greenish eyes and 
yawning jaws, snapping viciously at the cordage and plung- 
ing furiously in his frantic endeavors to escape. Quickly 
as they scatter, the Kroos gather again and surround the en- 
tangled victim. Armed with oars, stretchers and boat- 
hooks they rain blows upon the writhing form, taking good 
care though to spring nimbly back whenever in the skurry 
the fighting end of the shark comes into an unpleasant 
proximity ; blows which would stun an ox, but which upon 
the monster fish have but a stimulating effect. And see! 
the net is giving way. Cut, bitten, or broken, an ugly, omi- 
nous rént is seen. Should the shark but perceive it he 
would soon be at liberty. 
But now ‘Black Will” advances. Taller by half a head 
than the tallest, with thews and muscles of a demi-god, he 
stands proudly conscious of his skill and power. Witha 
superb gesture of contempt he motions the noisy rabble to 
fall back. They obey, and, like in the bull ring, when the 
matador ‘assumes his part, the contest is left to these two 
‘only. For a moment the tired shark lies quiet, and with his 
devilish eye watches his new adversary. ‘‘Will,” too, is 
quiet for the moment. With his yellow, bloodshot eye he 
searches sharply for the vulnerable point. His thick lips, 
drawn spasmodically apart, show his great white teeth, filed 
to saw-like points; his wide nostrils twitch with excite- 
ment; his brawny hand clutches a short, sharp-pointed 
knife, uplifted fora blow. Suddenly, with a whoop that 
hand is dropped. With a great convulsive quiver the huge 
fish straightens out and is quiet, and the well-directed blade 
is buried in his neck, where, between the vertebra, there is 
one weak point that Will’s unerring thrust has reached. 
Here and there a sudden dense, blackness comes clouding 
up from the bottom, and a space of yards square becomes a 
pool of ink, into which and from which the frightened fishes 
enter and emerge and hide themselves from our sight. A 
huge ‘‘Sepia,” or cuttle-fish, has been dragged from its lair, 
and he, too, raises in his defence his only weapon. 
But shark and cuttle-fish are thrown out, and our prey 
landed upon the sand. No great variety, after all. A few 
flounders and sand eels are sprinkled among the mass, but 
mullets predominate, and it is well that they can be cap- 
tured in this way, for they will not take the hook, and are 
most delicious for the table. We do not count or weigh our 
catch, for there is beyond all question enough and to spare. 
The launch and cutters are loaded to their thwarts, and the 
jolly Kroomen, chanting and singing their wild, native 
songs, pull slowly off. A big fish chowder, with ‘‘yams” 
and ‘‘tarrow” in lieu of potatoes, awaits two hundred men 
to-morrow. 
But I don’t see that I have said much about the shot gun 
as yet. Patience, old friend ! you must let me have my own 
way, and Ill promise it shall come in, in due time. , We'll 
hang the seine to dry, and jumping into the ‘‘dingy” pull 
seaward a short half mile toward that rocky point, where 
the sterile mountain bathes its stony foot in the sea. Stop 
when youcan see the bottom clearly, and lower your an- 
chor. It is a few feet, you think, but fathom after fathom 
pays out, and sixty feet of clear, transparent fluid is beneath 
you as you peer through the liquid depths into a vast aqua- 
rium. Now learn the secrets that Nature generally conceals 
from our sight. Beds of living coral, with green and yel- 
low and white blending one into the other ; branches reach- 
ing upward like stunted oaks, and bearing strange and un- 
familiar foliage; deep crevices, where the greenish water 
grows blue and bluer till, with its density, the range of 
vision is arrested; arches and tunnels and labyrinthine 
paths, through ‘which slowly glide hither and thither, or 
like meteors dart, strange forms—myriads of fish, of all 
sizes and descriptions, pursuing the natural tenor of their 
lives, unscared by the presence of the boat floating so far 
above their backs—unconscious of their danger because as 
yet untaught. Huge ‘‘gropers” (garroupas), snappers, sheeps- 
heads, and other rockfish, as yet unnamed, are lying quietly 
upon the bottom, with but their moving gills, and now and 
then a slight flirt of a fin, to betray that they live. Little 
coral fish, crimson and blue and scarlet, flash in and out 
among the crevices, high up above their mighty enemies, or 
gathered in groups like gorgeous boquets. 
Bait your hook, carelessly as you choose, with a bit of fat 
pork, and lower it gently to their level. You see so plainly 
the clumsiness of your gear—the great hook, the wire snell, 
the coarse cod line—that, if a trout worshipper, you fear 
for the result. Butin anginstant all is changed. Where 
quiet was, confusion reigns, and from all directions dart 
swift-motioned forms. The little coral fish, frightened, dis- 
appear in their crannies. Your hook vanishes, and a sharp, 
heavy tug proclaims a strike. As the victim feels the sting 
of the steel he darts off from the scrambling crowd, and 
you can see your work before you. The others show an in- 
stinctive knowledge that there is something wrong, and 
dash wildly to and fro. Large fish rush at the stricken one 
and endeavor to tear him from your hook. Round in 
quickly, for your tackle is stout, and you have no time for 
playing. Sharp coral edges will fray your line, or sharks 
rob you of your prize.if you delay. Clap on boys, and 
haul! up with him, hand over hand! With a heavy surge 
over the gunwale a great red snapper, full forty pounds in 
weight, lies gasping and struggling at your feet. 
Another bait, a few moments to recover breath, another 
contest for supremacy, and so on till sunset comes, and 
sheer fatigue moderates your excitement. Then, with wet 
legs, frayed clothing and torn hands you realize that hard 
play can be identical with hard work. 
I think I'd better get to “‘shooting fish” though, very 
soon, or my letter will be like Artemus’ lecture on the 
“Babes in the Woods,” where he introduced every imagin- 
able subject except the babes. It didn’t amount to much, 
after all; and in reality, as in this letter, I never bothered 
with the gun till Thad caught my fill with the line. But 
sometimes at low tide the fish were not on their usual bot- 
toms, and the hook and line gave but poor results. Then 
we would station ourselves outside the line of breakers, 
where, from the rocky points extended great tables of flat 
reef, the surface of which was broken up and had many 
hollows and pools, left filled by the receding tide. In these 
comparatively safe retreats multitudes of small fish were 
gathered. The big fish knew it, and all along the edge they 
lay in wait. Now and then a little higher wave would for 
a few instants flood the rocky table, and on its crest the 
great gropers and snappers would rush headlong in, and if, 
perchance, they struck a pool, remain monarch and eagerly 
devour its inmates. As often, though, they missed their 
aim, and the receding wave.left them flapping and kicking 
about on the rocks. Then was our time—a quick snap shot, 
and the reflux wave bore to our grasp such monsters in size 
as often puzzled us to secure. 
Com. L. A. Bkarpsuzg, U. 8. N. 
GUY FAWKES AND HIS FATHER. 
eee ees 
Y the kindness of Mr. Bartlett, I have had the good 
fortune to be present on the occasion when the little 
Hippopotamus, Guy Fawkes—who is now eight months 
old—was introduced to his disagreeable old father, Obesh, 
a resident in the gardens for twenty-three years. Obesh 
was quietly munching his breakfast of grass in the outside 
den, when at a given signal the portcullis of the mother’s 
den was gradually raised, and the two heads appeared gaz- 
ing out with a most comical expression. Seeing his wife, 
the old man left off munching his grass, grinned  ahartly 
grin, and he loudly trumpeted ‘‘ Umph,” ‘‘Umph,” ‘‘Umph.” 
Little Guy Fawkes then came forward from behind his 
mother, with the action and stiffness of a pointer when he 
has discovered a covey of birds; gradually and slowly he 
went up to his father, and their outstretched noses were 
just touching, when the old woman sounded the signal for 
war, and rushing past the young one, fairly challenged her 
lord and master to single combat. He instantly retreated a 
step or two, and his wife began to pretend to munch at 
the grass, keeping her eyes always fixed spitefully upon him. 
Just at this moment the sun shone out, and I was enabled 
to see most distinctly the remarkable phenomenon of the 
““plood-sweet”’ of these gigantic animals when excited. 
The usual pale chocolate color of the skin of the hus- 
band and wife became densely covered with spots that 
looked like thin red gum, and when the male turned his 
head I could seethat these spots were globular ; they glistened 
like dew on a cabbage, and stood high upon the skin like 
blood-stained diamonds. I managed subsequently to wipe 
off one of these globules, and it stained my note-book quite 
red. After gazing at each other for about half a minute, 
old Dil, for that is the female’s name, made a savage rush at 
her husband, and simultaneously both animals reared right 
up on their hind legs, like bulldogs fighting. They gaped 
wide their gigantic mouths, and bit and struck and lunged 
at each other savagely, while the grass fell out of their great 
coal-scuttle mouths on to the battle-field. The crash of 
their tusks coming together was truly Homeric, and remind- 
ed me of the rattle and smashing clash—only exaggerated— 
when the Windsor Park red-deer charge and fight with their 
horns. For a second or two these two gigantic animals 
closed together and swayed to and fro like Cornish wrestlers. 
This scene of the Hippoptami fighting was grand in the ex- 
treme, and would form a good subject for an Oxford prize 
poem or the pencil of Landseer. When they settled on 
their four legs again the old woman followed up her advan- 
tage by giving her husband a tremendous push “‘ well hit” 
with her head, and while the cowardly old fellow sneaked 
backwards into his pond, his wife trumpeted a triumphant 
signal of victory from the bank. All this time little Guy 
kept well in rear of his mother, occasionally peeping round 
her sides to see the rare and extraordinary phenomenon of 
a husband and wife having arow. Dil then slowly, and in 
a Shah-like manner, walked down the steps into the water, 
and hunted the old man about until she drove him up into 
a corner, she then mounted sentry over him. The young 
one then mounted on to his mother’s back, and gazed with 
filial respect, not unmingled with impudence, at his father. 
At the least movement on his governor’s side, he sank 
down into the water as quiet as an otter, without making 
the slightest ripple or sending up a bubble of air, and 
shortly re-appeared with his pretty little head, erect ears, 
and bright eyes, and looking like a gigantic frog. During 
his subaqueous excursion the little rascal had probably gone 
up to and touched his father, for the old fellow gave a sud- 
den plunge and jump asif he had been touched up from 
underneath by something alive. Thus the three remained 
for about half-an-hour, grunting and staring at each other. 
Obesh made one attempt to get out of his corner and re- 
treat into his den, but his artful old Missis was two quick 
for him, cut off his retreat and drove him back. ‘The little 
one, I observed, always kept the far side of his mother, in 
case his father should turn rusty again. In about three-quar- 
ters of an hour the row was all over, and instead of angry 
trumpetings, the signals gradually assumed a more amicable 
tone, and it was evident that the two Behemoths were get- 
ting into good temper. At last the female swam nearer to 
her husband, and distending her great nostrils to the utmost, 
uttered a kind of hiss, not the least like a war cry. When 
the keeper heard this he said, ‘‘ They are all right now, 
Sir; they’ll not fight any more. See, the old man’s begin- 
ning to smile, and he has uncocked his ears and left off 
staring.” The faithful keeper was quite right, for all three 
Hippos at once became friends, and the domestic row was 
over. 
I understand that on the previous day, when these three 
beauties were first put together, that little Guy Fawkes im- 
mediately went up to his governor, and cheeked him in the 
most insolent manner; he bristled up, grunted at him, 
showed his teeth, and actually challenged his father to fight. 
The mother then charged the old father, scratched his face, 
and pushed him right bang all of a lump into the water. 
The little one followed up directly, swam under his father’s 
legs, and actually bit at and pulled the paternal tail. On 
the second occasion the youngster behaved very differently ; 
it was quite evident that somehow or other his mother had 
cautioned him and given him orders to keep in the rear 
while she fought her old man. On this occasion Obesh 
was terribly alarmed, although his wife frightened more 
than hurt him. She so alarmed him that a new discovery 
was made by Mr. Bartlett. After the row was over the 
cowardly old Obesh changed color. His mulatto-colored 
skin got gradually whiter and whiter, and the lower part of 
his head and sides became of a creamy-white tint, and the 
poor old fellow looked ‘‘as white as a ghost.” It was some 
hours before he came to his proper color again. When 
his wife gave him a hiding on the second day Obesh again 
turned somewhat white, making his blood-spots stand out 
with unusual clearness. Now that this family scrimmage 
is over, we trust that for the future they will enjoy domestic 
felicity. é 
By the way, the controversy has not yet been decided 
whether the present name ‘‘ Hip-po-po-ta-mus” (which 
means a horse-river, not a river-horse), shall not be recast 
into Potamippus, and the little Guy Fawkes received a new 
appellation—the diminutive of the original word—viz., 
‘“Hippopo-tamidion,” or ‘‘ Potamippodion.” This, as your 
correspondent Mr. E. K. Karslake remarks, ‘‘ would be bar- 
barous.”’ I should like to hear a stammerer tackle it. —FRaANK 
BuckiAND, in Land and Water. 
—————— eh 
A Cincinnati editor, who has indulged in a heavy life in- 
surance, is said to be followed, whenever he goes a fishing, 
by several life insurance companies, affectionately bearing 
life-preservers and sun umbrellas. 
