“Squills” now got his hand in and brought out a dashing fish of three and a-half pounds, in a manner so pretty and artistic as to elicit a warm eulogium from the “Governor,” who, of course, had not meantime been idle himself. In fact, I had taken a double and single while the boys got their two; but these outweighed my three. All through our excursion the largest fish were invariably taken by bait, but not so many of them as by the fly. However, the fly was so much less trouble and so much prettier, and cleaner to handle, I did not care to change, seeing at once that we should catch more fish than we wanted anyway.
It was a great treat to me to watch the enjoyment the boys had in their sport. Neither of them had been out before for years, and no student at the beginning of a long vacation could have manifested such unbounded delight at his freedom, as did they with their fishing and its accompanying pleasures. It is a fact worthy of note that while I, using the fly, took only speckled trout (S. fontinalis), my friends, with bait, secured several of other and larger kinds.
Well, amid laughter, joke and repartee, the afternoon wore away, and evening shades came all too quickly.
Our sport had been almost unique in its exhilarating success and joyousness. When the sun sank below the waters we had taken in all seventy-six fine trout, none under one pound. Of this number my fly was responsible for thirty-two, “Squills” had taken twenty-one, and “Bluffy” twenty-three. A lovelier lot of fish was never seen; and with the exception of eight dead ones, we transferred them all safely to the corral, built in the edge of the lake near our tent, with large stones. Here, about eighty per cent, of all the fish taken on this trip remained alive during the whole time of our stay. Whenever one showed signs of failing we dipped him out for present use. This corral, hacked up by our supply of ice, gave us full assurances that our good luck would not be followed by reckless waste.
But I had almost forgotten the chief incident of this memorable day. As we approached the camp we saw “Jim” on the shore dancing a double “Virginny break-down” and grinning all over from head to foot; his shining ebony face and gleaming teeth fairly illuminating the coming darkness. On seeing us he yelled out, “I got him, gentlemen; I beats you all; takes this nigger to catch fish!”
The imp had actually made for himself a raft of drift-wood, paddled it out to deep water, and taken with bait a great salmon trout of twenty pounds! and it was now swimming about in the corral like a very leviathan among my morning’s catch. This tickled us all so immensely that we then and there bestowed upon “Jim” an extra “quarter” each. This boy was indeed a treasure; a first-class cook and care-taker; willing, faithful, and honest; while his store of songs, exhibits of dancing, and never-failing fun and good-humor, would have sufficed to keep cheerful any camp in the world. Poor fellow! he was drowned two years later in Lake Michigan, while bathing.
If I did not fear to spin out this already dull narrative to an inordinate length, I should like to give a detailed account of each of the twelve days we fished and shot in this vicinity.
Twelve days only, mind you, for not a line was wet on Sunday.
Our one rifle proved a useful adjunct, but we found no use for the shot-guns, the season being too early and the weather too fine for ducks. The delicately sighted Winchester, however, procured us several fine specimens of the loon or great northern diver, and one or two large blue cranes, all of which, I presume, now adorn “Squills’” sanctum in British Columbia.
Almost every day we had choice sport, and we limited our catch only by the facilities we possessed for saving and carrying away the fish.