My poles, all this time, remained just where I first placed them—not a nibble, as I knew. Some very wicked people, I have been informed, swear at fish when they refuse to bite—but I did not—because I have never been able to see why they were to blame, or why swearing would reform them, if they were. It was no very good reason that they should take hold of one end of my pole and line, because I happened to be at the other.
Not having much luck with big fish, I concluded to amuse the "small fry." So out went my hook ker-slump right down in the midst of a great gathering, who seemed to have met on some business of importance. It was a little curious to watch these finny fellows as they eyed my worm. They swept round it in a circle, a few times, and coming up with a halt, and forming themselves abreast, they rocked up and down from head to tail, as they surveyed the thing. By and by, a perch, a little more venturesome than the rest, floated up by degrees to the bait, his white fins slowly moving back and forth, and carefully reaching out his nose, he touched it, wheeled, and shot like a dart out of sight. In a few minutes he came round in the rear of the company, to await further experiments. Next came the sun-fish, jerking along, filled with fire and fury, with a kind of who's-afraid sort of look, and striking at my hook, actually caught the tip of the barb, and I turned the fellow topsy-turvy, showing up his yellow to advantage. He left for parts unknown. There was a small bass who had strayed into the community, whom I was anxious to coax into trouble; but he lay off on his dignity, near an old root, to see the fun. I moved my hook towards him. He shot off and turned head to, with a no-you-don't sort of air. I took my bait from the water and spit on it, but it wouldn't do. I took it out again, and went through an incantation over it, but I couldn't catch him by magic; and I have no doubt, reader, he is there yet.
Venison, every little while, dragged another and another pickerel aboard. Pretty soon we had Jim Buzzard cleaning fish, and packing away in a barrel, with a little sprinkling of salt.
I gathered in my lines, arose, and thanked the whole tribe of fish, generally and particularly, for their attendance upon me, and promised not to trouble them for a month at least.
The sun was waning low, and the shadows of the trees were pointing across the river. The clouds in the west gathered themselves into all kinds of pictures. There was a fleet of ships, all on fire, in full sail, far out at sea; the fleet dissolved, and a city rose out of its ruins, filled with temples, and domes, and turrets, and divided into streets, up and down which strange and fantastic figures were hurrying. The city vanished, and a pile of huge mountains shot up their rugged peaks, around which golden islands lay anchored, all glowing with light. Away one side, I noticed a grave, corpulent, and shadowy old gentleman, astride an elephant, smoking a pipe, and he puffed himself finally away into the heavens, and I have never seen him since—a solemn warning to persons who use tobacco.
Venison said "we had better hunt up our camping-ground, for his stomach was getting holler, and he wanted to fill it up."
Below us, a sparkling stream put into the river. Just above it, a mile or so, lay a broad lake, which was fed from this same stream—it came in from the wilderness. We started for this lake, and wound our way up this little creek amid the struggling shafts of sunlight that hung over it. The water-fowl were hurrying past us, towards the same spot, to take up their night's lodging, and we drove flocks of them ahead as we crowded upon them. The dip of our oars echoed among the shadows. We reached our ground, unloaded our gear, and prepared for the night.
Venison directed Jim Buzzard to build a "stack" and get supper. So, a pile of stones was laid up, with a flat one across the top, leaving a hole behind for the smoke to escape. Venison knocked over a gray duck on the lake with his rifle, and it was not long before we had four feet of pickerel and that self-same duck sprawled out on the hot stone, frying.
Venison was rather gloomy. "This," said he, "makes me think of times gone. I used to camp here all alone, years ago, when there warn't no settlers for miles. I used to catch otter and beaver and rat, and sleep out weeks to a time. But the beaver and otter are gone."
"Beaver here?" inquired I.