N
o sooner had the last guest left the room, than Mr. Havisham turned from his place by the fire, and stepped nearer the sofa, where he stood looking down at the sleeping occupant. Little Lord Fauntleroy was taking his ease luxuriously. One leg crossed the other and swung over the edge of the sofa; one arm was flung easily above his head; the warm flush of healthful, happy, childish sleep was on his quiet face; his waving tangle of bright hair strayed over the yellow satin cushion. He made a picture well worth looking at.
As Mr. Havisham looked at it, he put his hand up and rubbed his shaven chin, with a harassed countenance.
"Well, Havisham," said the Earl's harsh voice behind him. "What is it? It is evident something has happened. What was the extraordinary event, if I may ask?"
Mr. Havisham turned from the sofa, still rubbing his chin.
"It was bad news," he answered, "distressing news, my lord—the worst of news. I am sorry to be the bearer of it."
The Earl had been uneasy for some time during the evening, as he glanced at Mr. Havisham, and when he was uneasy he was always ill-tempered.
"Why do you look so at the boy!" he exclaimed irritably. "You have been looking at him all the evening as if—See here now, why should you look at the boy, Havisham, and hang over him like some bird of ill-omen! What has your news to do with Lord Fauntleroy?"
"My lord," said Mr. Havisham, "I will waste no words. My news has everything to do with Lord Fauntleroy. And if we are to believe it—it is not Lord Fauntleroy who lies sleeping before us, but only the son of Captain Errol. And the present Lord Fauntleroy is the son of your son Bevis, and is at this moment in a lodging-house in London."
The Earl clutched the arms of his chair with both his hands until the veins stood out upon them; the veins stood out on his forehead too; his fierce old face was almost livid.
"What do you mean!" he cried out. "You are mad! Whose lie is this?"
"If it is a lie," answered Mr. Havisham, "it is painfully like the truth. A woman came to my chambers this morning. She said your son Bevis married her six years ago in London. She showed me her marriage certificate. They quarreled a year after the marriage, and he paid her to keep away from him. She has a son five years old. She is an American of the lower classes,—an ignorant person,—and until lately she did not fully understand what her son could claim. She consulted a lawyer and found out that the boy was really Lord Fauntleroy and the heir to the earldom of Dorincourt; and she, of course, insists on his claims being acknowledged."
There was a movement of the curly head on the yellow satin cushion. A soft, long, sleepy sigh came from the parted lips, and the little boy stirred in his sleep, but not at all restlessly or uneasily. Not at all as if his slumber were disturbed by the fact that he was being proved a small impostor and that he was not Lord Fauntleroy at all and never would be the Earl of Dorincourt. He only turned his rosy face more on its side as if to enable the old man who stared at it so solemnly to see it better.
The handsome, grim old face was ghastly. A bitter smile fixed itself upon it.
"I should refuse to believe a word of it," he said, "if it were not such a low, scoundrelly piece of business that it becomes quite possible in connection with the name of my son Bevis. It is quite like Bevis. He was always a disgrace to us. Always a weak, untruthful, vicious young brute with low tastes—my son and heir, Bevis, Lord Fauntleroy. The woman is an ignorant, vulgar person, you say?"
"I am obliged to admit that she can scarcely spell her own name," answered the lawyer. "She is absolutely uneducated and openly mercenary. She cares for nothing but the money. She is very handsome in a coarse way, but——"
The fastidious old lawyer ceased speaking and gave a sort of shudder.
The veins on the old Earl's forehead stood out like purple cords. Something else stood out upon it too—cold drops of moisture. He took out his handkerchief and swept them away. His smile grew even more bitter.
"And I," he said, "I objected to—to the other woman, the mother of this child" (pointing to the sleeping form on the sofa); "I refused to recognize her. And yet she could spell her own name. I suppose this is retribution."
Suddenly he sprang up from his chair and began to walk up and down the room. Fierce and terrible words poured forth from his lips. His rage and hatred and cruel disappointment shook him as a storm shakes a tree. His violence was something dreadful to see, and yet Mr. Havisham noticed that at the very worst of his wrath he never seemed to forget the little sleeping figure on the yellow satin cushions, and that he never once spoke loud enough to awaken it.
"I might have known it," he said. "They were a disgrace to me from their first hour! I hated them both; and they hated me! Bevis was the worse of the two. I will not believe this yet, though! I will contend against it to the last. But it is like Bevis—it is like him!"
And then he raged again and asked questions about the woman, about her proofs, and pacing the room, turned first white and then purple in his repressed fury.
When at last he had learned all there was to be told, and knew the worst, Mr. Havisham looked at him with a feeling of anxiety. He looked broken and haggard and changed. His rages had always been bad for him, but this one had been worse than the rest because there had been something more than rage in it.
He came slowly back to the sofa, at last, and stood near it.
"If any one had told me I could be fond of a child," he said, his harsh voice low and unsteady, "I should not have believed them. I always detested children—my own more than the rest. I am fond of this one; he is fond of me," (with a bitter smile.) "I am not popular; I never was. But he is fond of me. He never was afraid of me—he always trusted me. He would have filled my placebetter than I have filled it. I know that. He would have been an honor to the name."
He bent down and stood a minute or so looking at the happy, sleeping face. His shaggy eyebrows were knitted fiercely, and yet somehow he did not seem fierce at all. He put up his hand, pushed the bright hair back from the forehead, and then turned away and rang the bell.
When the largest footman appeared, he pointed to the sofa.
"Take"—he said, and then his voice changed a little—"take Lord Fauntleroy to his room."
(To be continued.)
Three velvety, busy, buzzing beesOnce plunged in a thistle plant up to their knees.Alas! Though plucky and stout of heart,They bounded away with an angry start.For the thistle's the touchiest thing that grows;It's the firework plant—as every one knows.And every buzzer should pass it byOn the day that is known as the Fourth of July.
Three velvety, busy, buzzing beesOnce plunged in a thistle plant up to their knees.Alas! Though plucky and stout of heart,They bounded away with an angry start.For the thistle's the touchiest thing that grows;It's the firework plant—as every one knows.And every buzzer should pass it byOn the day that is known as the Fourth of July.
There was once a boy who thought that he could choose his birthday present more wisely than could his father and mother. He wanted an "arrow rifle"—a useless affair which has long since gone to the place where toys which are failures go. He was disappointed however. His birthday brought him not an "arrow rifle," but a light, jointed fishing-rod. Now this boy had already done some fishing with a heavy bamboo pole, or with one cut from an alder, jerking the fish out of the water, and swinging them over his head. To be sure the heavy pole made his arms ache, but his new rod, which bent at every touch, seemed to him too slender and flimsy to be of any use whatever.
I fear he was not very grateful at first, but he was properly rebuked when his father took a day from professional cares, and opened the lad's eyes to the pleasure of fishing with light tackle. When he had learned to "cast" flies with his elastic, strong rod, without hooking somebody or something not meant to be hooked; when he had seen the beautiful vermilion-spotted trout flash clear of the water, tempted by the flies; and when he had found that he could tire out and land larger fish than he had ever caught before, simply by pitting against their cunning and strength, skill and patience instead of mere brute force,—then there was opened to that boy a new world of sport and healthy recreation. He has never regretted the "arrow rifle"; and he now proposes to tell the boys as well as the girls who readSt. Nicholashow to obtain something which is within the reach of both,—the greatest possible pleasure from fishing.
If one could take a bird's-eye view of our country at any time in the summer, he would see boys and girls catching all kinds of fish in all kinds of ways; some off the coast in sailboats, tugging at bluefish or mackerel, others profiting bySt. Nicholas'slessons in black-bass fishing, some "skittering" for pickerel in New England lakes, others trolling for pike in the lakes and rivers of the West. But of all the fresh-water game fish there is none more beautiful and graceful or more active than the trout.
Rainbow Trout.RAINBOW TROUT.
Any New York boy who has never caught a trout should go down to Fulton Market at the opening of the trout season, when trout are gathered there from all parts of the country. He will see "rainbow" trout from the Rocky Mountains, their sides iridescent, and stained as if marked by a bloody finger. These are being introduced into Eastern waters. He will find trout in the blackest of mourning robes and others gayly dressed in silver tinsel. Sometimes the vermilion spots on the side shine like fire; again they are as dull as if the fire had gone out and left only gray ashes. For there are several varieties of trout known to naturalists and traveled fishermen, and even the brook trout, called by the formidable name ofSalmo fontinalis, varies greatly in color and shape in different localities. In Arizona, I have caught trout which were fairly black. In Dublin Lake in New Hampshire, the trout look like bars of polished silver as they are drawn up through the water. I never saw a more sharply marked contrast than that between the trout of two little Maine lakes, near the head-waters of the Androscoggin River. In one, the trout were long, and as thin as race-horses, and their flesh was of a salmon-pink hue; in the other, not half a mile away, the trout were short, thick, and almost hump-backed, with darker skins and lighter flesh. The first lake had a sandy, gravelly bottom, and the water was clear as crystal; the bottom of the second was muddy, and the water dark and turbid. This explained the difference in the fish, a difference always existing in trout of brooks or lakes under the same conditions.
Rangeley Lake Trout.RANGELEY LAKE TROUT.
Trout-rod and Tackle.Trout-rod and Tackle.
In the great Androscoggin Lakes of Maine, the trout, which are brook trout, grow to the largest size known anywhere. They have been caught weighing twelve pounds, and many claimed thatthey were lake trout, until the famous naturalist Agassiz decided that, although living in lakes, they were true brook trout. These immense trout have very thick bodies and cruel hooked jaws; but the guides can point out many contrasts between trout from different lakes, or even from different parts of the same lake. There are trout nearly as large in the rivers of the British Provinces, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Quebec, but these are usually lighter colored, and they are quite another variety, being known as sea trout, orSalmo trutta. All this adds to the interest of trout-fishing by inducing the angler to acquaint himself with what the Natural Histories have to tell him about the various kinds of trout. Then the differences in one kind teach him to be observant and excite a curiosity as to the habits of the trout. Here the Natural Histories will fail him. Only by following trout brooks and tempting the larger trout of lakes, can he properly study the ways and curious moods of this cunning, timid fish. And even then, if he be modest, he will often confess himself sadly puzzled; for the trout's wits are sometimes more than a match for the fisherman's. And this adds to the pleasure of trout-fishing; for if one had to deal with a fish which would bite at any bait, under any circumstances, and give up the fight as soon as hooked, the sport would soon grow very stupid. In trout-fishing, one will study the best conditions of wind, weather, and water, and learn how to approach one of the shyest of fish, how to delude one of the most wary, and how safely to land one of the pluckiest. To do this it is necessary to have reliable "tackle," a term which includes rod, reel, line, leaders, flies, and landing net. The rod must be so light that one can cast with it easily and persistently, and yet it must be strong enough to bend into all manner of curves without breaking, and to tire out large trout. If it is too stiff, the fisherman's arm will soon be wearied, and if it is too flexible or withy, it will not cast flies well, and it will not hold fish firmly if the angler needs to bring a strain upon them. In attempts to meet these requirements, fly rods have been made of split bamboo, ash and lance-ood, bethabara, greenheart, cedar, hickory, hornbeam, iron-wood, snake-wood, shadblow and perhaps twenty other woods, and there have even been experiments in making rods of thin steel tubes. The split bamboo rods are made of four or six triangular strips cut from the rind of Calcutta bamboo and carefully fitted and glued together. Sometimes the surface is rounded, but oftener it has six sides. These rods, when they are really good, are the best of all. Indeed, Americans may justly claim to make the finest rods in the world and also the finest lines. But I should not advise any of my readers to buy a split bamboo fly rod, because these rods are very expensive, they require very careful treatment, and if broken they must go back to the maker to be repaired. The fly rod which I recommend to the boys and girls ofSt. Nicholasis one with an ash butt, and the second joint and tip of lance-wood. It should be from ten feet to ten feet and a half in length, and should weigh about seven ounces and a half. Such a rod can be obtained from any reliable dealer in any large city. I emphasize reliable because there are fishing-tackle stores where one may get rods nice to look at, but worthless to use. Nearly all dealers keep what is called an "all around" rod, intended to be used, for either fly or bait fishing, but this, like most compromises is usually unsatisfactory. This, or something like it, will probably be shown you if you ask for a boy's rod, so that it is better to tell the dealer or rod-maker exactly what you want, and to accept nothing else. If he takes a pride in his work and has a reputation to sustain, he will interest himself in picking out a rod of sound, well-seasoned wood, evenly balanced, elastic, with a good action, and a peculiar "kick" in the second joint, which is of great service in casting a fly. Ifsome one can help you in making your choice, so much the better. Then it will be well to attach a reel and line to the rod and try it in actual casting, if this is possible; and when the rod is bent, see that the bend is an even curve. The pleasure of fly-fishing depends upon the quality of the rod, and the choice should therefore be made deliberately and wisely. Some fishermen make their own rods, and there are dealers who supply materials for amateur rod-makers; but this is a difficult undertaking and can not be described here.[A]I should advise any boy to go to a professional maker for his first fly rod.
Young Anglers.YOUNG ANGLERS.
The "enameled water-proof" lines are the best. These are braided from boiled silk, and prepared to resist the action of water, which will cause the decay of an ordinary line. Of the various sizes, which are distinguished by letters, that known as F is perhaps most desirable, although either E or F will answer the purpose. The line should be "level," not tapering, and at least twenty-five yards in length. This will be wound upon a "click" reel of equal capacity, preferably nickel-plated. But this is of less importance than the internal construction of the reel, for which you should have the maker's guarantee. Now come the flies. There are names enough to fill a directory, and a greater variety of colors than the woods show in autumn. A few flies like the "Montreal," "Professor," "Scarlet Ibis," "Coachman," and "the Hackles," are to be found in almost every angler's book. For the rest, it will be well to learn, from some experienced angler or intelligent dealer, the flies best suited to the particular waters which you intend to fish. At the Rangeley lakes, for example, you will find that large, gaudy flies are much used, like the "Parmachenee Belle," "Silver and Golden Doctor," and "Grizzly King," and there is one local fly called the "Katoodle Bug." In the Adirondacks, smaller flies of quieter colors are favored. For brook-fishing, very small flies of neutral tints are much used except when the water is very dark. A fly-book will be needed to contain flies and also leaders. The leader is a piece of "silk-worm gut," which should be about six feet in length. One end is fastened to the line, and the stretcher-fly is made fast at the other. One or two other flies, called droppers, areusually attached at intervals of two feet or more along the leader. Before making your choice, the leaders should be closely examined to see whether any part is frayed or cracked. They can be tested by a pull of four or five pounds on a spring balance. The leader is used as being less conspicuous than the line in the water, and, therefore, less likely to frighten away trout approaching the flies. Most leaders are dyed a misty bluish color which, it is thought, will escape even the keen eyes of the trout. A landing-net, the size and strength of which depend upon the fishing-ground, completes the list of tackle.
Trout Flies.TROUT FLIES.
The next step is to learn how to cast a fly, and here practice and the advice of some experienced fly-fisherman will be worth more than printed instructions.
It is not necessary, however, to wait for summer nor for access to water, in order to practice casting. A housetop, a dooryard, or even the spacious floor of an old-fashioned barn, as the case may be, offers just as good a chance for practice as a lake or river. When the rod is jointed together, the reel attached, and the line passed through the rings and beyond the tip about the length of the rod, the learner is usually seized with a wild desire to flourish rod and line like a whip with a long snapper. This feeling must promptly be suppressed. Fly-casting is a very simple movement, and not a flourish. The elbow is kept down at the side, the forearm moving only a little, and most of the work is done by the wrist. Holding the rod by the "grip," the part of the butt wound with silk or rattan to assist the grasp, one finds that the reel, which is just below the "grip," aids in balancing the rod. The reel is underneath in casting. After hooking a fish, many anglers turn their rods so as to bring the reel to the upper side, thus letting the strain of the line come upon the rod itself instead of upon the rings. In holding the "grip," the thumb should be extended straight along the rod, as this gives an additional "purchase." For the first cast, take the end of the line in the left hand, and bring the rod upward and backward until the line is taut. As you release the line, the spring of the rod carries the line backward. This is the back cast. Then comes an instant's pause, while the line straightens itself out behind, and then, with a firm motion of the wrist, helped a little by the forearm, the rod is thrown forward, and the line flies easily out in front. Begin with a line once or once-and-a-half as long as the rod, and lengthen it out by degrees. The main points to be remembered are: to keep the elbow at the side, to train the wrist, to move the rod not too far forward or back, always to wait until the line is straight behind on the back cast, and to make sure that in this the line falls no lower than your head, a process which it will take time to accomplish. There is no more awkward fault than that of whipping a rod down to a level with the horizon before and behind, and swishing the flies through the air until some of them are snapped off.
When the learner becomes accustomed to handling his rod, he must try to perfect himself in two matters of great importance—accuracy and delicacy. Place a small piece of paper fifteen or twenty feet away, and aim at making the knot in the end of the line fall easily and quietly upon it. Your efforts will be aided if you will raise the point of the rod a trifle, just as the forward impulse of the line is spent, and the line itself is straightened in the air for an instant in front. This is a novel kind of target-shooting, but its usefulness will be realized when the angler finds it necessary to drop his flies so lightly just over the head of some particularly wary trout, that the fish, although too shy or lazy to move a yard, will be persuaded that some tempting natural flies have foolishly settled on the water just within reach of his jaws. By practice of this kind, which is an excellent form of light exercise in itself, any boy or girl can learn a very fascinating art. It is not necessary to make very long casts. At fly-casting tournaments in Central Park, casts have been made of about ninety feet, but in actual fishing a third of that distance is usually sufficient. Never cast more line than you can conveniently and safely handle.
Capturing Two Fish At Once,—Or 'Landing A Double'.CAPTURING TWO FISH AT ONCE,—OR "LANDING A DOUBLE."
And now that we are ready to go a-fishing, the question arises, "Where shall we go?" The cold, bitter weather common in early April is not favorable to fishermen or fish. When May sunshine brings the leaves out on the trees, and fields aregreen and skies are blue, then Long Island may well tempt any New York boy who has a holiday to spend in fly-fishing. Years ago, any Long Island water could be fished without question, but now nearly all the Long Island brooks and ponds are "preserved,"—that is, kept for personal use by clubs or private owners. A boy who has a friend or relative among the owners of these preserves, or can hire a fishing privilege, can enjoy trout-fishing within a journey of two or three hours from his New York home. Within a few hours' ride, also, are trout streams in the southern counties of New York State and in Pennsylvania, although the former are so often visited that the fish have not time to grow large. The New England boy finds trout brooks in western Connecticut, in northern Massachusetts, and in the Cape Cod region, in northern New Hampshire and Vermont, and especially in Maine. Once, almost every stream and lake in New England contained trout. But forests were cut down, and some of the streams dwindled until they went dry in summer. Saw-mills were built, the streams were dammed up so as to be impassable for trout, and the trout eggs were buried under sawdust. Manufactories have poisoned the water of some rivers and others have been literally "fished dry." Thetrout of any brook near a large New England town have a very poor chance of long life. All this is discouraging enough, but yet there are trout to be caught, as every New England boy knows.
The most famous fishing-places in the East are the Rangeley Lakes in Maine and the Adirondacks in New York. About the third week of May the ice goes out of the great chain of lakes forming the head-waters of the Androscoggin River in Maine. Then the red-shirted river-drivers come down with "drives" of logs, which dash through the sluiceways of immense dams between the different lakes. And while the brown pine trunks are still shooting through the dams, fishermen begin to gather from all parts of the country, for in the clear cold water of these lakes the trout, feeding upon myriads of minnows, grow to be the giants of their race. I can wish no better piscatorial fortune for the children ofSt. Nicholasthan a visit to Maine with father or brother, and the capture of one of these large trout. I must confess, however, that the large trout are not to be depended upon; but there are small fish always to be caught in the little lakes and brooks of the region, and there are pleasant forest camps with cheerful fires blazing in great stone fireplaces. The host of one of these camps was for a long time a hunter and guide, and every winter he lectures before Boston schoolboys, dressed in his hunter's garb, and tells them about trapping and the adventures of life in the woods.
Interior of a Fishing-Camp.INTERIOR OF A FISHING-CAMP.
If one can continue further into the North-east, better fishing can be found in New Brunswick and Quebec than in Maine, although the trout of the Provinces are sea trout, a distinction which does not seem to me important. The trout of the Adirondacks are much smaller than those of Maine or New Brunswick, and now that the Adirondack country is overrun with visitors, one must go back some distance into the woods to find good sport. South of Pennsylvania, there is trout-fishing in the mountain streams of West Virginia and North Carolina. To the west, northern Michigan tempts the angler, and still further north are the large trout of the Nepigon river which flows into Lake Superior. The States along the Mississippi Valley are sadly deficient in trout, but a great deal can be done with black bass, as Mr. Maurice Thompson has told you. Trout abound all along the Rocky Mountains. There are the lusty five-pounders of the Snake River in Idaho, the rainbow trout of California, found also, I think, in Colorado, and the dusky fish of New Mexico and Arizona. I do not expect that many ofSt. Nicholas'sreaders will visit these remote fishing-places, but between the three corners of the continent in which I have caught trout—Quebec, Washington Territory, and Arizona—there are so many chances for trout-fishing, that very few need fail to enjoy this most delightful of outdoor sports.
The best month for fly-fishing is June, and the best weather a light southerly or southwesterly breeze and a slightly overcast sky. Morning or evening is the best time. The worst is the middle of an intensely hot, bright, still day. It is usually thought that a change in the weather makes trout more active. Very high or very low water is undesirable. Yet when all the conditions seem perfect, one may cast over a whole school of trout without inducing them to stir a fin; and on the other hand, when the weather is most unfavorable and when the fish are gorged with food, they will, sometimes, fairly hustle one another in their eagerness to get the flies. On one hot July noon, the air and water around my boat were alive with trout for half an hour, when they stopped rising as suddenly as they had begun, without any apparent reason in onecase or the other. Within two forenoon hours, I once caught twenty-five pounds of trout at the mouth of a brook emptying into one of the Rangeley lakes. Early next morning, I was rowed to the same spot and found only one solitary trout. On another occasion, I landed a five-pound and a three-pound trout from a pool in a Canadian river, without unduly disturbing the water; but although the pool contained several other fish, including one estimated to weigh over five pounds, not another trout could be induced to look at any fly in my book. Trout are very fickle and changeable, and the ingenuity sometimes required to coax them to rise adds as much zest to the sport as the suspense and excitement of hooking and landing them.
A Mountain Lake.A MOUNTAIN LAKE.
But when the trout does rise, what do you suppose he thinks? Does he really believe that the curious creature with a barbed tail hovering over his head is a natural fly? I doubt it. The flies ordinarily used would drive an entomologist to distraction. The great scarlet and white and yellow flies which have caused so many Rangeley lake trout to come to grief are, I fancy, unlike any living insect in that region, or anywhere else. The trout sees something moving on the water, and as experience has taught him that such fluttering objects are usually good to eat, his weakness for live food tempts him to pounce upon it without stopping to reason out the matter. But when he finds that this deceitful fly is entirely tasteless, he will drop it at once, unless the fisherman is prompt in "striking." This means a quick upward movement of the tip of the rod, a motion imparted, of course, at the butt, but communicated along rod and line. The movement "strikes" the hook into the fish. One can not be too quick in striking, but if too much force be used, the rod may be snapped at the second joint. Yet that is not the way in which rods are most frequently broken. If you have drawn in your flies so closely that you can not readily recover them, and your rod is pointing nearly straight upward, even a gentle attempt to strike a small fish is likely to break a rod. Once, I was fishing with a heavy rod from a raft which was drifting across a Canadian lake. The wind was so strong that I was obliged to cast with it, and then the raft rapidly drifted down upon my flies. A trout weighing not a quarter of a pound rose when my rod was nearly perpendicular, and the flies were close before me; instinctively I struck. The reward of my carelessness was that the rod, which would have landed a ten-pound fish, was cleanly broken into two pieces. Never draw the flies so near you that you have not safe and complete control of your rod, either for the back cast or for a strike.
The importance of the high back cast of which I have spoken, will be especially appreciated bySt. Nicholas'sboys and girls, for most of their trout-fishing will probably be done upon brooks where a low back cast would involve entanglement in grass or bushes. In brook-fishing it is usually necessary to use a comparatively short line, and one must learn to make under-hand casts,—that is, with the rod down to a horizontal level on either side, instead of being upright, something easilylearned after one can cast properly over-hand. Of course my readers will see that they must keep themselves and their shadows out of the sight of the timid trout. When a fish is hooked, let him run out the reel if he is large enough, unless he makes for stumps or brush where the line may get entangled. Then as much of a strain must be brought to bear upon him as the tackle will withstand; and always reel in line when it is possible. The line should never be slack. If the trout will not rise at first, change your flies and try the old rule of looking closely at the insects which hover over the water and selecting a fly from your book that imitates those insects as nearly as possible. The best general rule is to use small dark flies in bright, clear water, and larger bright flies in dark or turbid water. I need hardly say that fish are not to be lifted out of the water with a fly-rod. Let the trout run and struggle until the strain of the rod tires him out so that he can be easily drawn within reach and lifted out with the landing-net.
So you see that in fly-fishing for trout you learn a very fascinating art, which can be practiced among the most delightful of outdoor surroundings in the pleasantest months of the year. You will learn much more than books can tell you about the habits and curious ways of a fish which the most experienced anglers have considered for hundreds of years as, next to the salmon, their most worthy game. You will learn patience, perseverance, and all manner of practical lessons on trout streams, including the tying of knots and the repairing of rods. And the sunshine, the fragrance of flowery meadows, and the cool breath of the woods will give you a health which can not be found indoors. But let me urge upon you to remember that the true sportsman is always generous in his treatment of the noble fish which he pursues. He will never catch trout out of season. He will never kill more trout than can be made use of, nor will he ever kill them by unfair means. And he will never catch tiny troutlings, too small to afford sport, lest he should exhaust the streams, but he will carefully restore to the water any trout which are not at least six inches long.St. Nicholas'sfly-fishers who meet the gallant trout on fair and even terms will surely give the beautiful fish honorable treatment.
And when you go a-fishing, bearing these words in mind, may you be rewarded by baskets well filled with trout of noble size.
[A]"Fly Rods and Fly Tackle," by Mr. H. P. Wells, explains methods of making and repairing rods and other tackle, and gives much valuable instruction in fly-fishing.
[A]"Fly Rods and Fly Tackle," by Mr. H. P. Wells, explains methods of making and repairing rods and other tackle, and gives much valuable instruction in fly-fishing.
I am only a plain little daisy-flower,Sprung up at hap-hazard 'neath sunshine and shower,To live out as I may my life's poor little hour,Yet who is so happy as I?Oh, the days they burn hot, and the nights they blow cold,And the shadows and rains,—true they fall, manifold;But my dress is all white, and my heart is pure gold,And who is so happy as I?There 's many a gladsomer meadow than mine,Where greener trees shelter and softer suns shineFor others than me; but how can I repine,For who is so happy as I?There 's a brook I can't see by that far-away beech,And a bird that wont whistle, for all I beseech,And stars are up yonder, quite out of my reach,But who is so happy as I?I just look up at Fate with my brave little face,I stir from my post in no possible case,And I keep my dress clean, my gold heart in its place,And who is so happy as I?
I am only a plain little daisy-flower,Sprung up at hap-hazard 'neath sunshine and shower,To live out as I may my life's poor little hour,Yet who is so happy as I?
Oh, the days they burn hot, and the nights they blow cold,And the shadows and rains,—true they fall, manifold;But my dress is all white, and my heart is pure gold,And who is so happy as I?
There 's many a gladsomer meadow than mine,Where greener trees shelter and softer suns shineFor others than me; but how can I repine,For who is so happy as I?
There 's a brook I can't see by that far-away beech,And a bird that wont whistle, for all I beseech,And stars are up yonder, quite out of my reach,But who is so happy as I?
I just look up at Fate with my brave little face,I stir from my post in no possible case,And I keep my dress clean, my gold heart in its place,And who is so happy as I?
The winter of 1777 passed with little fighting; and when the spring opened, Washington used his army so adroitly as to prevent the British from moving on Philadelphia, and finally crowded them out of New Jersey altogether. That summer, however, was an anxious one, for there was great uncertainty as to the plans of the enemy; and when at last a formidable British army appeared in the Chesapeake, whither it had been transported by sea, Washington hurried his forces to meet it, and fought the battle of Brandywine, in which he met with a severe loss. He retrieved his fortune in part by a brilliant attack on the enemy at Germantown, and then retired to Valley Forge, in Pennsylvania, where he went into winter quarters; while the British army was comfortably established in Philadelphia.
The defeat of Burgoyne by Gates, at Saratoga, in the summer and Washington's splendid attack at Germantown had made a profound impression in Europe, and are counted as having turned the scale in favor of an alliance with the United States on the part of France. But when the winter shut down on the American army, no such good cheer encouraged it. That winter of 1778 was the most terrible ordeal which the army endured, and one has but to read of the sufferings of the soldiers to learn at how great a cost independence was bought. It is worth while to tell again the familiar story, because the leader of the army himself shared the want and privation of the men. To read of Valley Forge is to read of Washington.
The place was chosen for winter quarters because of its position. It was equally distant with Philadelphia from the Brandywine and from the ferry across the Delaware into New Jersey. It was too far from Philadelphia to be in peril from attack, and yet it was so near that the American army could, if opportunity offered, descend quickly on the city. Then it was so protected by hills and streams that the addition of a few lines of fortification made it very secure.
But there was no town at Valley Forge, and it became necessary to provide some shelter for the soldiers other than the canvas tents which served in the field in summer. It was the middle of December when the army began preparations for the winter, and Washington gave directions for the building of the little village. The men were divided into parties of twelve, each party to build a hut to accommodate that number; and in order to stimulate the men, Washington promised a reward of twelve dollars to the party in each regiment which finished its hut first and most satisfactorily. And as there was some difficulty in getting boards, he offered a hundred dollars to any officer or soldier who should invent some substitute which would be as cheap as boards and as quickly provided.
Building The Huts At Valley Forge.BUILDING THE HUTS AT VALLEY FORGE.
Each hut was to be fourteen feet by sixteen, the sides, ends, and roof to be made of logs, and the sides made tight with clay. There was to be a fireplace in the rear of each hut, built of wood, but lined with clay eighteen inches thick. The walls were to be six and a half feet high. Hutswere also to be provided for the officers, and to be placed in the rear of those occupied by the troops. All these were to be regularly arranged in streets. A visitor to the camp when the huts were being built, wrote of the army; "They appear to me like a family of beavers, every one busy; some carrying logs, others mud, and the rest plastering them together." It was bitterly cold, and for a month the men were at work, making ready for the winter.
But in what sort of condition were the men themselves when they began this work? Here is a picture of one of those men on his way to Valley Forge: "His bare feet peep through his worn-out shoes, his legs nearly naked from the tattered remains of an only pair of stockings, his breeches not enough to cover his nakedness, his shirt hanging in strings, his hair disheveled, his face wan and thin, his look hungry, his whole appearance that of a man forsaken and neglected." And the snow was falling! This was one of the privates. The officers were scarcely better off. One was wrapped "in a sort of dressing-gown made of an old blanket or woolen bed-cover." The uniforms were torn and ragged; the guns were rusty; a few only had bayonets; the soldiers carried their powder in tin boxes and cow-horns.
To explain why this army was so poor and forlorn, would be to tell a long story. It may be summed up briefly in these words—the army was not taken care of because there was no country to take care of it. There were thirteen States, and each of these States sent troops into the field, but all the States were jealous of one another. There was a Congress, which undertook to direct the war, but all the members of Congress, coming from the several States, were jealous of one another. They were agreed on only one thing—that it was not prudent to give the army too much power. It is true that they had once given Washington large authority, but they had given it only for a short period. They were very much afraid that somehow the army would rule the country, and yet they were trying to free the country from the rule of England. But when they talked about freeing the country, each man thought only of his own State. The first fervor with which they had talked about a common country had died away; there were some very selfish men in Congress, who could not be patriotic enough to think of the whole country.
The truth is, it takes a long time for the people of a country to come to feel that they have a country. Up to the time of the war for independence, the people in America did not care much for one another or for America. They had really been preparing to be a nation, but they did not know it. They were angry with Great Britain, and they knew they had been wronged. They were therefore ready to fight; but it does not require so much courage to fight as to endure suffering and to be patient.
So it was that the people of America who were most conscious that they were Americans were the men who were in the army, and their wives and mothers and sisters at home. All these were making sacrifices for their country and so learning to love it. The men in the army came from different States, and there was a great deal of State feeling among them; but, after all, they belonged to one army, the continental army, and they had much more in common than they had separately. Especially they had a great leader who made no distinction between Virginians and New England men. Washington felt keenly all the lack of confidence which Congress showed. He saw that the spirit in Congress was one which kept the people divided, while the spirit at Valley Forge kept the people united, and he wrote reproachfully to Congress:
"If we would pursue a right system of policy, in my opinion, ... we should all, Congress and army, be considered as one people, embarked in one cause, in one interest; acting on the same principle, and to the same end. The distinction, the jealousies set up, or perhaps only incautiously let out, can answer not a single good purpose.... No order of men in the thirteen States has paid a more sacred regard to the proceedings of Congress than the army; for without arrogance or the smallest deviation from truth it may be said, that no history now extant can furnish an instance of an army's suffering such uncommon hardships as ours has done, and bearing them with the same patience and fortitude. To see men, without clothes to cover them, without blankets to lie on, without shoes (for the want of which their marches might be traced by the blood from their feet), and almost as often without provisions as with them, marching through the frost and snow, and at Christmas taking up their winter quarters within a day's march of the enemy, without a house or hut to cover them, till they could be built, and submitting without a murmur, is a proof of patience and obedience, which, in my opinion, can scarce be paralleled."
The horses died of starvation, and the men harnessed themselves to trucks and sleds, hauling wood and provisions from storehouse to hut. At one time there was not a ration in camp. Washington seized the peril with a strong hand and compelled the people in the country about, who had been selling to the British army at Philadelphia, to give up their stores to the patriots at Valley Forge.
Meanwhile, the wives of the officers came to the camp, and these brave women gave of their cheer to its dreary life. Mrs. Washington was there with her husband. "The General's apartment is very small," she wrote to a friend; "he has had a log cabin built to dine in, which has made our quarters much more tolerable than they were at first."
The officers and their wives came together andtold stories, perhaps over a plate of hickory nuts, which, we are informed, furnished General Washington's dessert. The General was cheerful in the little society; but his one thought was how to keep the brave company of men alive and prepare them for what lay before them. The house where he had his quarters was a farmhouse belonging to a quaker, Mr. Potts, who has said that one day when strolling up the creek, away from the camp, he heard a deep, quiet voice a little way off. He went nearer, and saw Washington's horse tied to a sapling. Hard by, in the thicket, was Washington on his knees, praying earnestly.