exhibited for the admiration of the older boy, it
THE TWO BOYS 31
gave a sudden wriggle, slipped through the hands
of its captor, and fell back into the river. Woe of
woes! For the time, life was not worth living.
The biggest fish he had ever caught had gotten
away! In spite of the most heroic efforts his chin
began to quiver and then came a burst of tears.
" Never mind," said the older boy, " you'll catch
another just as good."
That day and that particular event came back
with startling distinctness more than thirty years
later, and on the banks of the far-famed Nepigon.
The boy had long since come to be a man, and was
camped with two congenial friends at the lower
end of " Pine Portage." There had been long
days of ideal trout-fishing and nights filled with
refreshing sleep. One day an old man ap-
parently near to the Psalmist's limit of years with
his son in the prime of life, came up the river with
their Indian guides and stopped for a few hours to
try the Pine Portage pool. While the younger
man fished from the canoe, the father stood upon
a rock that jutted out into the river and began
casting. It was not long before he hooked a fish
which gave every indication of being a big one.
The old man fought him well. The son stopped in
his casting to look on, and the campers came down
to the shore to watch the battle. Out of the depths
the gallant fish flung himself clear of the water,
and then all saw that he was of unusual size. The
32 DAYS IN THE OPEN
son hastened to the shore and offered to take the
rod and finish the contest, but the old man refused.
A half-hour passed, and then the tired fish began to
show signs of yielding and the fisherman already
saw himself the proud captor of a six-pound trout,
when it was all over. Was there a flaw in the
line? Had the aged sportsman inadvertently
dropped the tip of his rod until the fish had a
straight-away pull upon the reel ? No matter what
the cause, the line had parted under the last surge
of the fish, and he was lost. For a moment the old
face worked strangely, and then down went the
white head, face in his hands, and we saw the shak-
ing body as he sobbed out his disappointment.
Then the son laid his hand upon the senior's
shoulder and we heard him say, " Never mind,
father, you'll catch another just as good." Ten
and eighty are not far apart when we go fishing.
THE
TOWN-MEETING
AT
BLUE ROCK POOL
As for tny chosen pursuit of
angling, (which I follow with dili-
gence when not interrupted by less
important concerns), I rejoice with
every true fisherman that it has a
greeting of its own, and of a most
honourable antiquity. There is no
record of its origin. But it is quite
certain that since the days of the
Flood . . . two honest and good-
natured anglers have never met each
other by the way, without crying out,
"What luck?" HENRY VAN DYKE,
Fisherman's Luck.
Ill
THE TOWN-MEETING AT BLUE ROCK
POOL
D
IDN'T know that fish held town-
meetings ? That shows how your
education has been neglected. A
town-meeting is an assembly; fish
assemble; therefore, fish hold
town-meetings. Isn't that con-
clusive? But the fact is one of experience as well
as of logical deduction. It can be " mediated " by
the faith of every disciple of the immortal Izaak.
This is the unadorned and veracious account of
one of these piscatorial gatherings, held on an
August day in Caine River, New Brunswick,
seventeen miles from the nearest house. They had
been gathering for days. Prominent citizens were
there from Big Rock, five miles down the river, and
almost every inhabitant of the Forks, three miles up
stream, had answered to roll-call. A large number
35
36 DAYS IN THE OPEN
of youngsters who had lately taken up their abode
in Blue Rock Brook seemed to think that this was
some sort of circus, and had to be nipped into order
by their more sedate seniors.
The main business on hand was to provide for
the " summer schools " which had won a deserved
reputation for excellence long before the Uni-
versity of Chicago opened its doors. It was cus-
tomary, also, to elect a path-master at this time,
that the highways might be looked after and kept
free from grass. The Hon. S. Maximus Fontaine,
political boss of Troutopolis, had things well in
hand, and it was generally admitted that his slate
would go through without a hitch.
No wonder that the beauty-loving trout came
from far and from near to this place of assembly.
If the truth must be told a majority cared less
about the election than they did for the climate.
Search the country over and you could not find a
more charming spot. Just where a great clump of
white birches made a whispering place for the
wind, Blue Rock Brook came gurgling down into
the river. Its source was a great spring back
among the hills, and all along its course other
springs gave of their best to keep its waters cool
and sweet. From start to finish it was uncon-
taminated. When, at last, it found the river, it
rested for a little in a big, clear pool, before giving
of its freshness to the warmer waters of the larger
stream. Just here, with clean gravel underneath
THE TOWN-MEETING 37
and the nodding birches casting their shadows
overhead, enswathed in a delicious coolness that
defied the heat of the August sun, were gathered
the clans on the day of which we write. It was
here that they were deceived, betrayed, undone by
a stony-hearted Preacher who had journeyed far
to be present at this meeting. But that suggests
backing up and starting over again in order to get
the Preacher to this lonely spot.
How did he find the town-meeting? That is a
long story and must be compressed if told at all.
It would take more time than we have at our com-
mand to describe the mighty struggle through
which the Preacher passed in wrenching himself
away from the seductive stockyards' odours of Chi-
cago. He succeeded, however, and went meander-
ing through New York State and Massachusetts,
finally taking passage on a venerable tub that crawls
in fair weather between Boston and Yarmouth.
There was a vague idea haunting the ministerial
mind that he wanted to see the Evangeline country;
but that infant persuasion died suddenly in Digby.
If any American tourist wants to see Nova Scotia
let him keep away from Digby or put it last on his
list. For fascination it discounts the Lorelei. All
right-minded people (that means those who love to
sail and fish) are charmed with this little town.
If we had not set out to tell how the Preacher
broke up that Blue Rock town-meeting, we should
stop right here and relate one or two mild stories
38 DAYS IN THE OPEN
about the fishing at Digby. Did you ever catch
pollock that were run by ninety-horse-power steam
engines? Pollock that would strike so hard that
they dislocated the fisherman's shoulders when he
tried to check them up a bit? Did you ever catch
a codfish weighing two hundred and seventy
pounds ? Now this is not about pollock or codfish,
and it is just possible that one figure ought to be
taken off the weight of that cod. Do not ask that
we tell about the day's fishing on the Bay of Fundy,
for we must not do it. We " could a tale unfold,"
but it shall not be unfolded here lest we never get
to that town-meeting.
It was at the supper table in a Fredericton hotel
that the existence of Blue Rock Pool first became
known to the Preacher. He had opened his heart
to the whole company and begged of them infor-
mation concerning the trout fishing in that locality.
One guest said that by driving out to the northeast
four miles trout could be gotten in limited numbers
and of small proportions. Another suggested go-
ing up the St. John's River some ten miles. There
was much talk of what had been done in time past,
and much regret expressed that the Preacher had
not come in June or waited until later. The time
was very unfavourable it always is. Under such
consolation the mercury in the ministerial ther-
mometer sank out of sight. When supper was
over and the Preacher was leaving the table, a small
man who had not said a word during the entire
THE TOWN-MEETING 39
meal took the discouraged dominie to one side and
said:
" If you are willing to make a trip of some sixty
or seventy miles and camp out one night, I can tell
you of a place where you can get some trout."
" But," said the Preacher, " I have no tent or
blankets or duffle of any kind."
" I'll see to all that," replied the little man; " I
have everything that you will need, and it is yours
to use."
What a lot of good fellows there are in the
world, and the majority of them love to fish.
Here was a man putting his precious outfit at the
disposal of an utter stranger, with no thought of
reward or desire for it, simply to show a kindness
to a brother devotee of the gentle art. And the
little man proved to be a tailor. Now it has been
said that it takes nine tailors to make a man; but
you could have made nine average men out of that
tailor and there would have been material left to
patch the rest of the race. He gave the Preacher
the name of a man who could be secured as a guide,
helped him make out a list of eatables, brought over
his caribou blanket, tent, dishes, etc., and bright
and early the next morning the train going north
carried a passenger bound for Blue Rock Pool.
Did you ever notice with what reluctance the
average vehicle of transportation moves when it
has a fisherman on board? If you use a horse,
he'll go to sleep; an auto is sure to throw a fit, and
40 DAYS IN THE OPEN
a railway train almost invariably stops and goes
backward for a good share of the time. It looks
as if there existed some sort of a " combine " to
prevent the fisherman from making connections
with the place where he knows bliss is waiting for
him. It took the train six hours to go fifty miles !
They called it an "accommodation"; but by the
way that fisherman growled you could see that he
did not realize that he was being accommodated.
He did finally get to Doaktown, where his guide
lived, and found the aforesaid gentleman waiting
for him at the station in response to a telegram
sent the night before. His name was George at
least it ought to have been and he was a clean-
looking, husky fellow about thirty-five years of
age. Close at hand was Bucephalus adjusted to a
buckboard. (Bucephalus was the prancing steed
which had consented to haul us to Caine River.)
He was not handsome except in behaviour; in that
he was a beauty. Habakkuk had evidently not
seen Bucephalus when he wrote : " Their horses are
swifter than the leopard." The duffle was piled on
behind the seat, a bag of oats was given the place of
honour on top of the duffle, and Bucephalus, gently
and with infinite caution, began to move. A sense
of security took possession of the Preacher's soul
with the first step that that horse took. There was
something dignified and assuring about his move-
ments that left the mind absolutely free to reflect
upon the beauties of nature, untroubled by any
THE TOWN-MEETING 41
fear of personal injury. About a mile out of
Doaktown on the road to Caine River was a little
hill. Bravely Bucephalus tackled it, stopping not
more than twice each rod to give his passengers
time to drink in the beauties of the scenery. It was
during this period of hill-climbing, with its attend-
ant spaces of quiet, that George began his wary
approach towards getting acquainted with the
Preacher.
George: " Where do you live? "
Preacher : " Chicago."
George: "What might your business be?"
Preacher : " I'm a Preacher."
Thereupon George's lower jaw dropped until it
almost seemed to rest upon the dashboard, while he
rolled a skeptical eye towards his seat-mate.
Being convinced after prolonged scrutiny that the
truth had been told, he relapsed into silence, broken
at last by the remark, " I'll bet you ain't a Baptist
Preacher."
When his bet was promptly taken, he brought
the interview to a close by saying, " You must git
a mighty sight more pay than our preacher or
you'd never got so far from home."
For some time as Bucephalus jogged along
through the woods George was evidently depressed.
He may have been reflecting upon certain emphatic
remarks addressed to Bucephalus earlier in the
journey, or, possibly, he was wondering how he
could sneak out of his job. It was evident that he
42 DAYS IN THE OPEN
had not reckoned on piloting a body of divinity on
a fishing trip and was somewhat dubious as to the
prospect.
The road ended in Caine River, and for the five
miles farther to Blue Rock Pool there was nothing
for it but to take to the bed of the stream. It re-
minded one of driving over the cobble-stone pave-
ments of Albany, New York, only not quite so
much so. The Swedish movement which under-
takes to joggle you all over is not in it for efficiency
with such a ride. If there is any part of the anat-
omy that is unmoved by this wiggle and joggle it
must be in the domain of the " subliminal self."
When within sight of the destination it was found
that the Preacher's suit-case, in which he had a
change of underclothing, reel, flies, etc., had be-
come discouraged and dropped off. It was found
a mile down stream, resting against a rock, with
not a thing wet. " I'll set up the tent and git sup-
per while you go after 'em," said George, an ar-
rangement to which the Preacher promptly agreed.
The bamboo rod was put together, leader and flies
selected, and, just as the sun was touching the tree-
tops on the west bank of the river, the Preacher in-
truded upon the town-meeting. Hon. S. Maximus
Fontaine had just concluded a deal by which every-
thing was to go his way, when a strange and gaudy
insect alighted upon the surface of the pool and
went wiggling toward the shore. There was a
wild and unseemly scramble, but the honourable
THE TOWN-MEETING 4*3
wire-puller had his own notions of precedence and,
cuffing some of the smaller fry out of his way and
frightening off others by the glare of his eye, he
proceeded to make that tid-bit his own. No sooner
had he closed his jaws upon the coveted dainty than
he was sorry, for there was evidently " a string to
it " and that string kept steadily tugging at his
mouth. Much as he believed in " pulls " he did not
enjoy this one, and tried to part with it. He ca-
vorted about among his astonished fellow-towns-
men, flung himself out of the water, darted towards
a well-known root that had succoured him once be-
fore in a like experience, but still that firm persua-
sion at work upon his mouth would not let up and,
at last, he gave ground and was guided out into the
river.
Out in the stream, thirty or forty feet from the
pool, stood the Preacher engineering this perform-
ance. To say that he was nervous is a mild state-
ment. He was scared. It had occurred to him
just after that battle had begun that his landing net
was at the camp, and here was a big, big trout to be
taken care of. A six-ounce bamboo rod does not
lend itself to the derrick act by which you lift the
fish out of the water by main force and throw him
over your head, landing him some eighty rods
away. It would not do to try tiring out the old
warrior in the pool, for by the time that was ac-
complished all of his comrades would be in a state
of mind that would effectually prevent any further
44 DAYS IN THE OPEN
levy upon them. So out in the river that fish must
come while the fisherman takes his chances. It
was a long, hard fight, carried on a good part of
the time in swift water where the chances for the
fish's escape were excellent; but at last, tired out
and helpless, he was led into the still and shallow
water near the shore. There, just as the fisherman
was reaching down for him, the old politician gave
a last lunge that snapped the snood, and he was
free; but before he could gather strength to swim
away the Preacher lay down on him, and the days
of Hon. S. Maximus Fontaine were numbered.
A new fly was fastened to the leader, and the dis-
turbed citizens were invited to interview it. A
half-dozen, so small that they did not know any
better, were gathered in by the Preacher in one-
two-three order. Then came a tug that meant
business, and the Preacher began kicking himself
for forgetting that landing net. It seems that a
big politician from the Miramichi had come up to
see how Hon. S. Maximus managed things, and as
he had seen his friend tackle that first strange in-
sect and disappear, he concluded that this was the
proper thing to do. He followed his friend to the
basket of the Preacher, but not until he had in-
dulged in some contortions that nearly gave the
sportsman nervous prostration.
By this time the shadows had thickened and
George was yelling: "Supper's ready." He was
mistaken. It took about fifteen minutes to dress
THE TOWN-MEETING 45
and fry those half-dozen small trout not one
under half a pound and while they were cooking
the Preacher weighed his prizes. Hon. S. Maxi-
mus came within two ounces, and his friend within
four ounces of four pounds. Did you ever take a
four-pound trout, or even a three-pounder, on a
light rod? Then you know how self-satisfied that
Preacher was.
The tent had been pitched on a little plateau some
fifteen feet above the river. It was nine o'clock
when supper was finished and the dishes washed,
horse picketed and everything made ready for the
night. The caribou skin was laid on the bed of
boughs, the blankets made ready for cover, and
George and the Preacher " retired." The camp-
fire shone out against the dark background of the
wooded hills, the river sung a lullaby, and George
told a story about a moose that he had killed the
previous winter not more than forty rods from the
spot where they were lying, and when the Preach-
er waked he was freezing. The fire had gone out,
it was nearly daybreak, and those blankets seemed
made of gauze. He had no inordinate affection
for George under normal conditions, but now he
rolled over and clasped him to his heart. George
seemed to have lost his fear of the Preacher,
and for the remainder of the night each tried
to use the other as a stove. Each failed of
absolute success.
It is evident that the teller of this story has vio-
46 DAYS IN THE OPEN
lated one of the fundamental rules of homiletics,
and made his porch too large for the house. There
remains a whole forenoon of fishing to be dis-
posed of and no time to tell about it. But if we
had unlimited space at our command, who could fit-
tingly describe even an hour of successful dalliance
with the festive trout?
There were no more of the size of the political
boss and his friend; but how they came! Some-
thing over fifty trout preferred the Preacher to the
town-meeting, and when noon came that meeting
had adjourned sine die especially die. Some
were eaten for dinner, some were on the table at the
Doaktown hotel that night, George had what he
wanted, and twenty-one went back with the proud
Preacher to Fredericton the next morning.
IN THE
NORTH WOODS
v x
This simple fact, so glad in itself,
so obvious to one who keeps his
eyes open in Nature's world, is men-
tioned here by way of invitation
to assure the reader if he but enter
this School of the Woods, he will
see little of that which made his
heart ache in his own sad world;
no tragedies or footlight effects of
woes or struggles but rather a
wholesome, cheerful life to make
one glad and send him back to his
own school with deeper wisdom and
renewed courage. WILLIAM J.
LONG, School of the Woods.
IV
IN THE NORTH WOODS
TOP a minute !*"
It was the frightful jolt as one
of the wheels of the wagon struck
a high boulder and then went down
to the hub in a mud-hole that
called forth this plaintive request.
"I'll get out and walk!"
The cry came from one, but we made it unani-
mous with great alacrity. We were making our
way in a lumber wagon from the railway station
to Otter Lake. The driver said it was only ten
miles to our destination, and for the first hour we
were comparatively hilarious; then we struck the
woods and trouble began. It was growing dark,
and stumps and stones and sink-holes could not be
seen and so were taken as they came. The wagon
rose upon some obstruction to come down with a
jar that seemed to loosen every joint in the body.
49
50 DAYS IN THE OPEN
A little of this was quite enough, and the party
made the last part of the trip on foot, tripping and
stumbling through the darkness until, after what
seemed an interminable time, the lights of the
cabin flashed out through the trees. We were in
no condition to be curious as to our surroundings
that night and, after a supper of fried trout, were
glad to tumble into bed. The remark of one of the
boys of the family that the " old man " was away,
did not seem to possess much significance until
later on when we learned that he was serving time
in the county jail for shooting deer out of season.
In the sunshine of the next morning we saw our
surroundings clearly for the first time. A little
clearing of a couple of acres on the lake shore, a
rough log cabin with a rougher barn, a beautiful
little lake guarded on the east and south by high
hills timbered to their summits, what more could
the seeker after rest and recreation ask? Otter
Lake is too small to be entitled to a place on the
average map of New York, but it lies north of the
Mohawk River and east of the railway running
from Utica to Clayton. It is not far enough east
to be considered as in the Adirondacks, and the sec-
tion is familiarly known as the " North Woods."
An alternative term is "John Brown's Tract," as
the hero of Ossawatomie at one time owned hun-
dreds, if not thousands of acres of land in this lo-
cality, and cherished ambitious plans for a colony.
The party was made up of the Doctor, the Hard-
IN THE NORTH WOODS 51
ware Man, Frank, Jim, the Boy and the Preacher.
Poor Jim! He could ill afford the expense of the
outing, but he " felt all played out," as he expressed
it, and the physician had ordered him from behind
the counter to the woods. Every day he cheerfully
assured us that he was feeling better, and every day
he grew thinner and his breathing more difficult.
He was in the beginning of a fight which was to go
on for a couple of years longer; then he gave up the
battle and lay down to rest.
We had come prepared to camp out, and imme-
diate preparations were made for realizing this
ambition. The guide proposed Independence River
as a favourable point and, as we knew nothing of
that or any other part of the country, we acted
upon his suggestion, especially as he had told mar-
vellous tales of the Independence River trout. It
was not a long or hard tramp to the place where
we struck the river and pitched the tent. The sun
was shining, the air was soft and warm, and the
Hardware Man was running over with enthusiasm.
As we made ready for the night, with a big fire
blazing in front of the open tent, he remarked,
" I've looked forward to this hour from my boy-
hood." Whereas the more experienced members
of the party pulled on extra sweaters for the night,
the Hardware Man proceeded to disrobe as if he
were in his house in Harlem. When some one
suggested that he might feel the need of this cloth-
ing before morning, he exhibited his sleeping bag
52 DAYS IN THE OPEN
made of blankets and assured us that this would be
quite sufficient. Just before dawn the next morn-
ing, when the camp-fire had gone out and a pene-
trating chill was in the air, some of the party were
awakened by the movements of the Hardware
Man. He crawled out of his sleeping bag, arrayed
himself in his discarded garments, and when asked
what was the trouble declared, " I'm freezing.
One night of this is more than enough. My am-
bition is satisfied."
That day was devoted to the alleged trout of In-
dependence River. From what the guide had told
us we had supposed that two-pounders were
impatiently waiting to be caught. We fished all
day and averaged half a trout apiece. Six ardent
fishermen managed to capture three trout, not all
of which would weigh two pounds. Evidently
something was wrong. Fortunately, explanations
abound when fish refuse to bite. It is too early or
too late in the season. We haven't the proper bait.
It is too warm or too cold. They were taking
everything offered last week, or they will begin bit-
ing next week. This time the fish had left the
stream and were gathered on the " spring-holes,"
so the guide assures us, and we do not question his
pronunciamento. The trouble was that we