CHAPTER XIX.
THE LONG ISLAND PICKEREL.
Esox Fasciatus.—This fish has no name whatever in common parlance, and naturalists have dubbed him Varied Pickerel, Mackerel Pickerel, and other terms which are unknown except to their authors. He abounds on Long Island, although he is found elsewhere throughout the State, and probably the most appropriate name would be Banded Pickerel, as his scientific appellation justly suggests. Varied pickerel is appropriate to nothing, and mackerel pike to the scomber esox, another fish altogether. This fish is distinguishable by having dark vertical bands upon his sides, and being altogether of a darker hue on the back than any other pickerel, while the pectoral, ventral and anal fins are lighter colored and sometimes reddish. A dark band passes from the eye to the angle of the jaw, and the fin-rays are—
D. 22; P. 16; V. 10; A. 18; C. 18. Or, according to Dr. De Kay—
D. 15; P. 15; V. 9; A. 14; C. 19-5/5
This fish never exceeds one pound in weight, and one foot in length; and although endowed with all the ferocity of his family, does not apparently injure the trout ponds of Long Island, where he has a local habitation and a name. Probably he cannot destroy the larger fish, and the young fry do not live where he resorts. It is not from want of will but of power that he is harmless, for he will take a small fly with the same ravenous eagerness that the mascallonge exhibits in seizing the deadly spoon. He is fat and free from bones, and not a bad pan fish, and in these particulars, as well as in habits and appearance, he sets his big brothers a good example.
CHAPTER XX.
THE THOUSAND ISLES.
At the upper edge of the State of New York, where civilization terminates and Canada begins, a mighty river, the outlet of a hundred lakes and thousand streams, flows amid innumerable islands in a fierce current toward the sea. It bears upon its broad bosom in immense rafts the wealth of the forests of the Northwest. Enormous quantities of timber, collected from all its tributaries, even from the region around Lake Superior, are brought in large vessels, mostly three-masted schooners, to the head-waters of this stream, and there, at Cape Vincent or its neighborhood, are bound together into rafts, preparatory to descending the rapids. These rafts cover acres in extent, and sometimes have as many as fifty shanties built upon them to accommodate one hundred men for months, or until they shall reach Quebec or Montreal. Launched upon their journey, they are carried along by the current, and by sails when the wind is favorable, and even without the latter, moving as they do by the force of gravity faster than the stream, can be steered to some extent. Rough oars are fastened on the fore and after part, by a vigorous use of which the raft can be kept from danger and retained in the middle of the stream. They press on with resistless force, sometimes passing entirely over projecting rocks or small islands, and in one instance carrying off a lighthouse that had been located near their path. One end often runs far on shore, when the other swings round and drags it off; vessels of all kinds keep clear of them, if possible. They are bound together with withes made by twisting saplings, and so strongly that they rarely give way when rushing over rocks or descending rapids that are almost cataracts. Sometimes they are composed of logs, sometimes of rough staves. The latter are bound together in cribs, and instead of three drams making one crib, as is common in New York, three cribs make a dram; and the wood measure of the North may be said to be
| 1000 | Staves make one Crib; |
| 3 | Cribs make one Dram; |
| 20 | Drams make one Raft. |
And no one has any scruples whatever, for the country being poverty itself, the people are neither elevated nor moral, and eke out a scanty subsistence by rafting and fishing.
The people use for fishing, boats on the plan of a small whaleboat, built of thin cedar, and the surprise of my companions upon their first visit to this desolate region, was by no means small on discovering that they were expected to fish with three lines at once, holding one in their hand and having a rod projecting from each side of the boat in addition. We had arrived the evening before at Clayton, and, like true knights, finding there was to be a ball given by the natives, had attended it, and danced till the wee hours, with pretty little bright-eyed girls, strange dances called by Indian names, among which the most remarkable was Moneymust. It was in the latter part of July, and the day after the ball being bright and beautiful, with a southwesterly breeze, we each selected our boatman—for only one fisherman can go in each boat—and started for a day’s sport among the mascallonge and pickerel. We separated at once, some going up-stream, others across by Powder-horn and Shot-bag Islands, while I kept down along shore and ran into the bay behind the old mill.