Allan did not care about remaining much longer in this place, but soon after he returned to San Francisco, bringing with him a sufficient amount of gold to satisfy his wishes, and with this he brought the skin of the grizzly bear.
————
[AN AFTERNOON AT SAGAMORE POND.]
It was about the middle of March. We were fishing up at the Sagamore Pond--Rod Nichols and myself; fishing through the ice for pickerel.
When the country in this part of Maine was first settled, the Sagamore, as well as all the other ponds and lakes, abounded with lake trout, or, as they were then called, togue trout--great, broad-backed fellows, weighing from twelve to twenty pounds. But it was foolishly supposed by the early settlers that it would be better to have pickerel instead, of trout in these waters. So pickerel were put into nearly every pond and lake in this section. They are the most voracious of fish, very strong and savage, and soon destroyed the trout.
Those of the Sagamore are larger than the pickerel in most of the ponds. It takes a strong line to get them out of the water. Through a hole in the ice this is more easily done; but it is no small job to cut such a hole when the ice is two feet thick. Rod and I were an hour and a half hacking ours with a hatchet, that afternoon.
It was not far from the shore--eight or ten rods, perhaps--but between us and the bank there was a wide, open place, worn away, or thawed, by a "springhole" along the shore. The afternoon sunbeams, falling on the glass-bright surface, were reflected under the ice, and lighted up the water as far out as where we had made our hole. We could thus see all that was going on under us, though the water was nearly twenty feet deep.
We had fished in this place before, and knew how to take advantage of this clear water, for it's always pleasant to see what one's about. It is fully half the sport to see the fish biting.
After skimming our hole, we dropped in a hook baited with a shiner--we had a jug full of them--and waited for a bite; watched and waited patiently and confidently, but it didn't come. Not a fish could be seen in all the clear depths beneath. This was unusual, as well as vexatious, for the Sagamore was known to be well stocked with pickerel, and they generally took the hook readily. But an hour passed without so much as a nibble at our bait.
It was a fine, sunny afternoon. Everything was still. There was not even the cawing of crows to be heard. Presently, looking across to the shore, we saw a large black creature watching us from an old pine stump, that was some four or five rods from the water.