Having captured the master spirit of the stream, we did not wish any of his smaller brethren, and while he was dying we wound up the hand-line and removed the spinning tackle from the others. I then took out a twelve-foot salmon leader, or casting-line, as our friends across the water express it, and fastened on it, at equal distances, five large flies, the upper dropper and tail-flies being dressed with white and ibis feathers mixed on a large sized salmon hook, while the intermediate ones were small, dark colored salmon flies. This leader, thus equipped, being fastened to one line, and a similar one, except that a small, gay spoon replaced the tail-fly, to the other, they were trolled thirty or forty yards astern, so that they sank well as we moved slowly along. Then, leaving the quiet bays, with their sluggish current and weedy bottom, we struck out boldly into the rapid water and sought the rocky shoals where black bass love to hide and wait.
The wind had increased till there was quite a sea, and it was difficult to manage the boat; but that was soon forgotten in the excitement. The fish were numerous and in excellent disposition; every shoal we crossed furnished us with several; we often took two or three at a time, and occasionally had both lines engaged at once. They were brave, vigorous and determined; madly they darted forward on feeling the hook, and threw themselves high out of water to shake it from their mouths; finding that vain, they made rush after rush to escape, again and again they leaped in the air, resolute and courageous to the last; not till they were in the net would they surrender.
Strange it was to note the different shades of their colors. Their deep sides, for they are an awkward-looking fish, and their shape gives little indication of their strength, were, in some, of that dark green, almost black, from which their name is derived; in others it was a light green, and again in others pale yellow. Whence these variations are derived, unless it be from the shade of the ground they live on, to which all fish are said to assimilate, is not known; but it has often led to their being divided into distinct classes, or mistaken for other species. Their peculiarity of springing out of water is remarkable. Salmon and blue-fish do so frequently, trout rarely, and other fish seldom or never; but a black bass of any size will invariably make one or more desperate leaps. It is a glorious sight to see his full length above the water, and a nervous moment till the line that has been slacked is again taughtened by his strain. Such leaps are his most effective means of escape, by enabling him to shake the hook from his mouth or strike the line with his tail; and though not so persevering as the trout, generally, at the sight of the net, he makes a final, dangerous rush.
We coasted along by island after island, crossing near one named after “Old Bill Johnston,” memorable for having taken an active part in the Canadian rebellion, and long forced to hide from his English pursuers. Johnston’s Island, as it is called, was his favorite resort, where he was succored and warned of danger by his beautiful daughter, universally known as the Queen of the Isles. What a theme for the poet or the novelist the father safe neither on the English shore, where he had waged unjustifiable war, nor among the Americans, who would have been compelled to surrender him, lurking among those beautiful isles, then wilder and more densely wooded than now, trusting for his support to his rod and line—for he rarely dared to use his rifle—and to the scanty supplies brought by his daughter; the latter residing on shore watching for any expedition that might be fitted out against him, and at the first intimation darting off in her light canoe in spite of rain or storm, in the daylight or impenetrable darkness, and arriving at her retreat, perhaps just in time to warn him of his danger and enable him to escape. Imagine the woman’s ready wit, ever at work, ever on the watch for him; imagine the father’s joy on seeing her amid his trying and wearisome solitude, and her anxiety till he is once more out of danger. The thought that such things had really happened so near to where we then were, added to our excitement, and was only dissipated on passing Whisky Island, which is in dangerous proximity to the former.
Our boat was headed down-stream and driven before the strong wind; we moved rapidly with varying success till we arrived at one little shoal, the name of which I have forgotten, or it never existed, and where we found fish innumerable. Frequently every hook on both lines was engaged; often I landed three, sometimes four, and once or twice five fish at a time. The sport was wonderfully exciting; first one rod bent, then the other; and then, while I was busy foiling the struggles of fish so numerous that they made the water foam, I would see with a feeling of despair the other rod bend and the line slowly render round the reel. It was impossible to move faster, useless to hurry; but, as quickly as I could and dared, the fish were brought to net. This shoal was
THE STRIPED BASS—ROCK FISH—(Labrax lineatus.)
exposed to the full fury of the wind, and the water dashed in over the bow or broke against the side, while the oarsman had all he could manage to row against the blast.
Round and round this spot we moved, ever with the same result; the lines were not half out before they would be seized, it was almost impossible to keep the two rods in play. This lasted till we were both utterly worn out with the excitement and the exertion, and were compelled to give up from sheer exhaustion. My fingers had many a bloody mark left by the reel-handle, that a sudden rush had jerked from my grasp, and being compelled in the uncomfortable seat to turn my body round to reel up, my back was almost broken. The man had rowed as long as he could, but was forced to run down between the Powder-horn and Shot-bag Islands and rest awhile before breasting the storm homeward.