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.
I had on the line of my right-hand rod a Buel’s patent spoon, tin on the
outside and red on the inside, brightened, by being rubbed with pumice
stone, till it shone like burnished silver, and, with red ibis feathers
wound round the treble hook, it glanced and sparkled through the water,
visible at a great distance. On the left-hand rod the spoon was copper
on the inside, and the hooks were wound with scarlet flannel, while that
in my hand line had copper on the outside, brightly polished, but
neither feathers nor flannel round the hooks. We passed down from the
outer point of the island toward the lower part of the bay without
success, but when returning inside, my right-hand rod suddenly bent, and
the line slowly unwound from the reel, over which I had taken a couple
of turns to prevent its rendering too rapidly; dropping the hand-line,
which was made fast to the seat, I seized the rod, and turning it round
and reaching my line, commenced to draw it in as lightly and delicately,
but steadily as possible, just holding it between the tips of my
fingers. The fish was large, and when he was about half-way in, having
come thus far with no other objections than a few violent flounces, he
made a fierce rush; instantly the line slipped with a steady but slight
strain through my fingers, and he dashed off for some distance, but soon
tired, he allowed me to pull him up to the side of the boat; once there,
grasping the wire above the hook, I lifted him quickly over the side and
threw him on the bottom, where he flounced about vigorously and with
energy enough, if exhibited sooner, to have broken almost any line.
Taking the hook carefully by the shank, I twisted it out of his mouth,
and weighing him with the scales that were always in my pocket, found he
weighed ten pounds.
Turning at the head of the little cove, we retraced our path and struck
another fish, and so over and over again, some of them making violent
but unavailing efforts to escape, others slapping off just as they were
being lifted into the boat, others again coming in with their heads out
of water like a yawl towed behind a steamboat. Sometimes it was the
right-hand rod that bent, sometimes the left, then the hand-line felt
the strain--often two and sometimes all three at once; it kept me busy,
to say the least of it. The reels were of little use, as the boatman had
to keep rowing to prevent the lines sinking to the bottom and catching
in the weeds, which, in spite of all precautions they sometimes
succeeded in doing, and the strain was consequently too great for them.
The bottom of the boat was filled with the long-bodied, wolfish and
ravenous devils, that snapped their jaws, struggled about, their eyes
gleaming with impotent fury and merciless cruelty, as ugly looking a set
as the sun ever shone upon; but as they were brought in, one after
another, my oarsman was delighted.
We remained on the same spot, rowing round until satisfied we should get
no more, when we headed over toward the Canadian shore, into the
far-famed region of Eel Bay. The latter takes its name from a fly that
is found in the fore part of July in immense numbers on the waters of
this region. It appears to one who has small claims as an entomologist
to be the May-fly or famous Green and Grey Drake of England. Some that I
pressed and brought to the city were recognized at once by the English
fly-makers, who were delighted to see an old friend, and made a number
of them for me after the pattern, saying that there was but a shade of
color between them and what they had so often prepared as the May-fly at
home. These flies appear in myriads; when the wind is northerly, the
waves will cover the dock at Cape Vincent with them several inches
thick. Their body is long and so heavy that in the early morning, when
their wings are damp with the dew, they cannot rise to fly and are
readily picked up by their wings, which project invitingly above their
backs. Eel Bay is named from the immense quantities of these flies that
appear there; they constitute the principal food of the fish from which
they derive their name, as well as of the cisco, black and rock bass,
chubs, and probably many others. They rise with difficulty from the
water, and fly heavily and slowly.
Our course carried us across the rapid current of the St. Lawrence,
where my boatman was glad to have me haul in my lines, that dragged
heavily, as there was no chance of taking fish. We were soon in the bay,
an extensive reach formed by a bend in the St. Lawrence, lying upon one
side, out of the force of the current, and filled with innumerable
islands. It probably holds within itself a thousand isles. They are of
all kinds, shape, form and appearance, some half a mile in extent,
constituting a cultivated farm, others a bare rock scarcely projecting
above the surface, some covered with a dense foliage, others furnishing
a single tree, and many bare of tree, bush or grass. There is immense
variety of appearance, but all are inconceivably picturesque. None are
very high, but at times the rocks run straight up like a wall of stone,
while others are long, low and flat. They are clustered together, often
affording barely room for the boat to pass, and offer to the eye every
variety of shape and foliage. Amid them we now wandered, admiring their
bewitching beauty as they lay basking in the broad sunlight upon the
calm bosom of the river. Seldom are they inhabited, and most of the
primeval forest trees having been cut, they have grown up with a dense
underwood, occasionally relieved by some tall monarch of the forest that
has survived the fury of man.
Keeping close along under the overhanging tree or rock, or passing into
the open water with ever-changing scenery, we drew from the “vasty
deep,” where the long pickerel weed could be seen reaching up toward the
surface, one after another of those savage monsters, the Great Northern
Pickerel. Without catching anything of wonderful size, we had taken an
unusual number, when the calls of hunger warned us that the hours were
fleeting faster than we thought.
Landing at the point of an island where there was a beautiful natural
grove, we set to work to build a fire and prepare our fish for dinner.
The pleasantest arrangement connected with this fishing is that each
boat is provided with a basket of good cold fare, a frying-pan and the
necessary means of cooking; and in the middle of the day it is customary
for several to meet at an appointed island, and for the fishermen to
have a jolly dinner. Although we were first to arrive, our companions
were not long behind us, and the best fish, especially the black bass,
were selected, cleaned, split open, and fried in the grease tried out of
a few pieces of salt pork. Our provisions were combined and made quite a
handsome picnic set-out, rendered more acceptable to our sharpened
appetite by a few glasses of iced champagne. Of course we had our
stories to tell: how skillfully we had landed this fish, or how
unfortunately we had lost that; and one man, who had struck and almost
landed a mascallonge, was agitated with mingled happiness and
despondency. The days were long, our boatmen had had a hard tug of it,
the shade was grateful, the champagne refreshing, our cigars excellent,
and consequently no one was hurried. The wind, however, kept increasing,
and after a couple of hours, pleasantly passed, we once more embarked
and bid each other farewell till night.
My boatman struck well in toward the Canadian shore; but although we
crossed places where he had had wonderful success on many a previous
occasion, and of which there were extraordinary stories of mascallonge,
our luck had deserted us. However, perseverance was rewarded; suddenly
my hand-line was taughtened as though it had struck a log; for a moment
it was still, then I felt the motion of the fish. The boatman instantly
dropped his oars and reeled in as quickly as possible the other
lines--just in time; for the fish, feeling he was caught, made one rush
directly toward us. I drew in the line hand over hand, to have something
to give out when he should make away again, but not nearly so fast as he
moved. He passed close to us; we could see the broad back, the long
nose, the fierce eye, the mighty length of the mascallonge.
“Turn the boat broadside toward him,” I whispered as he passed.
Away he went, the slack of the line hissed through the water as his
increasing distance took it up, and partially deadened his way as he
reached the end of it and came against the light though steady strain
with which I held it. Giving to him, at first readily then more
sparingly, I again turned him; this time he did not approach so near,
but swung round well in-shore. Then, with a sudden rush, he came
straight on, and flashed directly beneath the bottom of the boat. If the
line once touched the rough surface, or caught in a splinter of the
wood, we knew it would part like pack-thread. The oarsman tried to swing
her round; there was no time; hastily gathering a few coils, I threw
them into the water at the stern, and passing the line over my head,
anxiously watched them sink. Suddenly they were taken up, the line in my
hand taughtened and lifted out of water; it had not caught, and that
danger was past. The struggle lasted long; again and again he darted
away; once he nearly exhausted my line, and compelled me to use
considerable force, but generally I held the least possible strain on
him. Finally, he made one grand rush, was foiled, allowed himself to be
drawn alongside, and was neatly gaffed by the boatman.
He was an immense fish, a triton even among pickerel of ten pounds.
Beauty he certainly did not possess, but grandeur and ferocity marked
every lineament. His huge head, immense jaws, and terrible teeth, his
long, narrow body, large fins, and broad tail, and above all, his
fierce, gleaming, savage eye, marked him as the undisputed master of the
fresh waters. His enormous size and prodigious strength, the latter
exemplified by his nearly springing over the gunwale, indicated that he
had no match even in our extensive lakes, while his merciless ferocity,
that would spare neither large nor small, friend nor foe, was but too
apparent. His weight, as afterward ascertained, was thirty-five pounds,
and his length was excessive proportionally to other fish. Although he
fought well, he had not exhibited in the water the vigor he did out of
it. Now that his fate was sealed, he lashed about, struggled and
flounced as though his capture had just commenced, and scarcely showed
an intimation of approaching death or surrender. It appears to be a
peculiarity of the pickerel family that they exhibit their courage and
strength too late, waiting till they are manacled before they fairly
rouse themselves to the emergency. Their efforts consequently afford
little pleasure to the sportsman or profit to themselves.
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
[Illustration: 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.
We had had great luck, taking in the last hour and a half seventy-three
bass. It was a glorious sight when we arrived at home to see our fish
laid out side by side, the mascallonge at their head, and tapering
regularly down to a half-pound black bass. The latter do not average any
great size, rarely exceeding three pounds and never known to be taken
over six; but a day upon the St. Lawrence among those beautiful Thousand
Isles, either in pursuit of the mighty mascallonge, the furious
pickerel, or, best of all, the spirited black bass, will never be
regretted by the poet or the sports man.