sailing-boat, there to tie him up. This all sounds very simple and
straight forward, but there is no end to the tricks of which a tarpon is
capable. He will dash backwards and forwards beneath the boat, till you
think no power on earth can ever prevent your line becoming hopelessly
entangled with yourself or the oars, he will double up and down, and
round and round, he will even leap clean over the boat, often
threatening to land himself inside it, and so swamp you. On one occasion
a fish I had hooked started away up stream, then suddenly turned in his
tracks, met the buoy of our anchor, took three clean turns round it, and
continued his mad career towards the Gulf. I thought all was over, but
Santi by some marvellous _tour-de-force_ somehow unwound it, shouting as
he did so "Let your line out as hard as you can," and away we went. All
this with a tide running about seven knots an hour, and the boat
swinging wildly in mid-stream. We killed that fish, which greatly
surprised us both.
One hears wonderful stories of fishermen being towed many miles by
tarpon, and one Englishman we met had been over four hours one day
having a desperate fight with a very large fish, which I believe he
lost in the end. After we had been at Fort Myers some time, we heard
great accounts of the sport to be had at a place called Captiva, an
island in the Gulf of Mexico. We were also told it was a very dangerous
form of tarpon fishing there, as the place where you fish is a very
narrow pass between two islands, where there is always a tremendous sea
running, so that you are liable to be swamped. They also told us it
would be quite impossible for a woman to attempt to land a tarpon there,
as owing to the rapid tide you must land in order to play your fish, and
this entails running up and down the beach after him, which is very hard
work with a heavy fish. All this naturally made us much keener to go, so
we made our preparations, which had to be considerable, as the only
accommodation on the Island consisted of two or three fishermen's huts.
We laid in a couple of small camp bedsteads, while sheets, pillows,
blankets, and the ever necessary mosquito curtains were lent us by our
host at the hotel. We also invested in a tin plate, mug, knife and fork
each, a few cooking utensils, the largest tin bowls we could find to tub
in, a large supply of tinned provisions, chickens, ice, in fact, all we
could think of. Then we found a coloured cook, a vast and very cheery
young man, who turned out an excellent _chef_. Finally we started, with
our guides and tarpon boats--and towing our sailing-boat--on the steamer
which plies every other day between Punta Gorda and Fort Myers, and
which passes within a mile of Captiva Island.
Captiva is a dream of loveliness, lying like a pearl on the
sapphire-blue, ever changing waters of the Gulf of Mexico--an enchanted
garden where all the ordinary troubles and cares of life seem to have no
place. As we landed for the first time on its snowy beach, where the
brilliantly green trees and vegetation come down almost to the water's
edge, and cast intense violet shadows on the low-growing cactus, with
its yellow, starlike blossoms and redly purple fruits, and gazed out on
the wondrous waters of the Gulf, where every exquisite shade of palest
and brightest emerald green gradually deepened into softest yet most
vivid blue, we felt we had indeed chanced on the Land of the Lotus
Eaters, and that here we could spend our days in dreaming blissful
dreams, far away from the multitudinous cares of civilisation. Life was
so simple there, one's requirements narrowed down in a remarkable way.
The climate is so exquisite, with the blazing sun tempered by breezes
from the Gulf, and the hut we had was a simple structure of two or three
poles thatched with palm leaves, into which you entered by a square hole
in the wall. Guiltless of furniture was the hut, beyond two trestle-like
tables, on one of which I erected my bed, to escape the numberless
cockroaches which infested the thatch.
Our meals we had in the other hut, where cooking went on, and what
delicious repasts they seemed to us. They generally consisted of fish,
soup or chowder, a sort of "olla podrida" of bits of chicken,
vegetables, green corn, anything our _chef_ could lay his hands on, or
fried fish fresh caught, and such delicious varieties of these there
were too, and bananas fresh or cooked. We always marvelled at the
inventive genius of our coloured Soyer. But in reality you never think
of being hungry, or thirsty, or tired, or anything else at Captiva, you
feel quite superior to all bodily wants.
We used to bathe at night in the mystical moonlight, when the air was
heavy with scents, a belated mocking bird's song perhaps mingling with
the soft rush of the tide on the shelly beach. Then we would sleep
sounder than we had ever done before, till 4-30 or so, and awake keen
and eager for another delightful, long, busily lazy day. It used to be
my greatest delight to get out on the beach, before any of the old
sailors even were about, and watch the daily miracle of the sunrise over
the shining waters of the gulf, when the air seemed stilly waiting for
the wonderful moment when the golden glory of the sun should flood land
and sea, and chase away the dreamy evanescent hues of greys and rose and
blues, which had clothed the world but a moment before.
The island is about three miles long and one mile wide, curved rather in
the shape of a letter S, which made the most fascinating little bays and
inlets. We used to spend all our spare time rambling about and exploring
it. It is quite uninhabited except for four or five old Spanish
fishermen, who have their little settlement of two or three huts and a
drying shed for the fish, on the beach where we landed. The whole island
is covered with trees and a thick undergrowth, with here and there open
spaces covered with flowers of all varieties. The butterflies are
another great feature, of every size and colour imaginable, and the
mocking birds make the air ring again with their lovely plaintive note,
so like our nightingale. On the beach the shells were a never ending
interest to collect, so wonderful and varied they are. With all these
different amusements we never found time too long, for when we were
tired of investigating the hidden nooks and corners of our Garden of
Eden, we could always sketch, and occupy ourselves in vainly
endeavouring to reproduce the ceaselessly changing and indescribably
beautiful tints of the Gulf, with its waters rippling gently on the
golden shore at our feet, or the picturesque old fishermen in their
faded blue garments, as seen against the dim background of the drying
shed, where the fish were a mass of irridescent mother-of-pearl and
jewel-like hues, and where huge, green glass demijohns for water made
yet another note of brilliant light.
[Illustration:
_7-ft. 0-1/2-in._ _6-ft. 7-in._ _5-ft. 4-in._
_156-lb._ _136-lb._ _80-lb._
_A GOOD BAG OF TARPON._]
At Captiva you fish on the flood tide, which when we first arrived
there, chanced to be about 6 p.m. so we had all the day at our disposal.
About 4-30 p.m. would see us setting forth in the tarpon boats, bigger
and deeper ones than those used on the river, so as to minimise the
danger of capsizing. Gently pulling down to the fishing ground, half a
mile or so away, we would take up our places as near a tide-rip as
possible, for that is where the fish love to feed. The pass is very
narrow, about a quarter of a mile across, so we and any other boats that
might be there would be at very close quarters, indeed the swinging of
the tide frequently brought about collisions between neighbouring boats.
There we anchored, a somewhat difficult business, as the bottom is so
rocky it is very hard to get an anchor to hold.
While waiting for the tarpon to begin to bite, we would pass the time
catching smaller fish for the next morning's breakfast, red grouper,
with their cavernous rosy-red mouth, very excellent eating; black ones
of that ilk; king fish, an extremely difficult gentleman to catch, as he
is very active and game for his size, and in colour and shape rather a
cross between an eel and a mackerel; sea trout always welcome for the
pot, or some unhappy fisherman perhaps would discover he had hooked a
jew-fish, which would mean either hours of hauling and much expenditure
of bad language and energy, or cutting the line and sacrificing hook and
snood. The jew-fish is a horrible looking thing like a large pig, a
dirty yellow in colour, covered with scales so minute that they look
like a skin, and with a huge head. These fish generally weigh over 200
lbs., and fishermen naturally dread them, for they are absolutely
unsporting and just bore down and down on the line, never jumping or
showing any fight, but steadily resisting all efforts to raise them,
till it is like trying to lift an elephant. But whenever or wherever you
throw a line, a catch of some sort is a certainty, for the water simply
teems with fish, and you probably get a different one every time, which
adds greatly to the interest and excitement.
In bottom-fishing, as it is up the river, the more rods you have out the
more chances of bites, but at Captiva the fish bite so voraciously and
so incessantly that two rods are as much as you can do with, one for
yourself and one for the guide. Even then if you hook one fish out of
every ten strikes, you do well. In bottom-fishing you wait for the fish
to gorge the bait before striking. At Captiva you must strike the very
instant you feel a bite, or otherwise the tarpon spits the bait out on
feeling the line, and you must strike with all your strength too, for
the tarpon's vast mouth is lined with a perfect coat of mail, in which
there is but one soft spot, an inch or two in length, where the bones
divide. The hook is put into the bait about two inches from the end, and
the shank, seized to the end of the bait, is connected with the line by
three feet of piano wire, which replaces the raw hide snooding in this
Pass fishing, where there is so much strain on everything owing to the
difference in the way the fish take the bait, and the tremendous tide
running. You need a rather more limber rod too, to help you keep a tight
line on your fish, no easy matter in very rough water. The fish are in
innumerable thousands in the Pass, which they must all enter on their
way up the river, and it is a fine sight to see the water literally
alive with these splendid fish, all leaping and playing like minnows in
a pond.
I must say I felt very nervous at first as to my chances of landing a
tarpon at Captiva, having been told it was so impossible a feat for a
woman to achieve. Great therefore was my delight and pride, when, the
second day after our arrival, I landed a fine one, weighing 126 lbs.,
and measuring 6 ft. 5 in. It was a thrilling moment, when, after many
futile strikes, I at last got one on safe, and saw his huge silvery bulk
leaping wildly into the air, while Santi threw out his buoy and we
started down towards the Gulf. I strained every nerve to keep a tight
line on the fish, working in the slack by a foot at a time, while
keeping the tip of my rod high in the air. By very slow degrees we edged
towards the shore, and at last felt the welcome grating of the keel on
the beach. I scrambled out, knee deep in water, and then the real tug of
war began; for it is a very difficult matter to run up and down a
shelving, shingly beach with nearly 130 lbs. fighting for dear life at
the other end of your line, threatening every instant to snap it, or to
make a wild dash out to sea. After about twenty minutes of this, when I
was very nearly exhausted, I felt to my great relief that the tarpon's
struggles were becoming less effectual. We could see him occasionally,
and at last I hauled him close up, Santi made his usual clever stroke
with the gaff, not however till after many attempts, and much splashing
and objecting on the part of the tarpon. I was decidedly thankful when I
saw him lying high and dry on the shore.
My husband had two great battles in one night. He hooked an enormous
tarpon which ran straight out to the gulf. He and his boat disappeared
entirely from sight, and when after about two hours we went in search,
we discovered him breathless and exhausted but triumphant, having just
gaffed his fish, which measured 6 ft. 10 in., and weighed 180 lbs.! The
second one measured 6 ft. 8 in., and weighed 175 lbs., a fine kill for
one day at Captiva. These two, with mine, looked splendid specimens
lying side by side in the moonlight.
It is if possible even more exciting to fish in the dark than during the
day. When you have it all to do by "feel," it is a weird sensation, to
struggle with an invisible foe, the only outward signs of which are the
showers of phosphorescent spray, as the tarpon leaps and falls again. Of
course on a moonlight night you can see all that is going on, and the
tarpon looks like a dream fish as the silvery light glitters on his
gleaming sides.
After ten days or so of fishing in the Pass we heard they were getting a
good many fish at Port Myers, so we returned there, quitting our idyllic
life at Captiva with much regret. It is a lovely trip by steamer between
these two places. The river is thickly studded with islands of all
shapes and sizes, some flat and low, covered with an impenetrable
thicket of mangroves, others larger with a few houses and probably an
hotel. We called at two or three of the more important ones, always
finding the same scene, a dilapidated wooden pier, constructed on
slender piles standing far out into the river, where most of the people
gathered for the event of the day, the arrival of our boat. A
queer-looking motley crowd they were, coloured people of all shades of
blacks and browns and dirty yellows, languid, lazy-looking "crackers,"
as the native Floridians are called, with here and there a pretty girl
in a sun bonnet, flirting with the lanky and very leggy young men in
shirt sleeves and sombrero-like hats. All were lounging in the sun, most
of them with a line, pulling up cat-fish, sea-trout, jack-fish, or
sheepsheads, as fast as they put the bait in.
The sea is a wondrous emerald green, and we lean over the side of the
boat watching the rolling porpoises, some of which follow us for miles,
and catching an occasional glimpse of an evil-looking shark, or again
passing through huge shoals of stingarees, like enormous submarine birds
with their flapping wing-like sides. The day wears on in warm drowsiness
till at last we approach Fort Myers, and are met at the dock with eager
enquiries and congratulations on our successful expedition to the Pass.
By the 15th of May the weather had become very hot, and the mosquitos
very bad, and all the other fishermen having already taken their
departure, we felt our time had also come. It was only a few days before
we left, that I caught what was supposed to be a record fish in point of
length, 7-ft. 1/2-in., weight, 156-lbs.
On a blazing morning we lingeringly and regretfully bade farewell to
Fort Myers, where we made so many pleasant friends, and had such
glorious sport, and we had a blazing ten hours passage on the _Laurence_
up to Punta Gorda, so that we hailed the evening cool with thankfulness.
At Punta Gorda the big hotel was closed, and the visitors and fishermen
had all fled long since, but we found a room in which to pass the short
time that elapsed till the train was ready to start for Jacksonville.
There we arrived after twelve hot weary hours in the cars. We waited
there two nights for the boat to New York. Jacksonville is the chief
town in Florida, and a most bustling and amusing place to see.
We had an exquisite passage to New York, five days of absolutely calm
and glorious weather, with scarcely a ripple on the sea, or a cloud in
the intensely blue sky. We arrived to find New York shivering in cold
winds and a prey to spring weather of the worst description, heavy
showers and dreary intermittent gleams of sunshine, a strange contrast,
indeed, to the perfect climate we had so recently left. Among our
luggage was a gigantic coffin-like case, in which reposed the body of my
first tarpon. I had insisted on having him stuffed and set up, as I was
quite convinced at the time I could never catch another one so fine,
though afterwards I rather regretted my haste, when I found I was
destined to even greater success.
Hermione Murphy-Grimshaw.
[Illustration: _Lombardi and Co. 13, Pall Mall East._
_MISS WALROND._]
ARCHERY.
There is probably no weapon in modern use which can boast a more ancient
and distinguished lineage than the bow, and so slight is the change it
has undergone during its lengthened career, that the bow of the present
day is in no-wise--save in strength and finish--dissimilar to the more
deadly instrument of far-off times. In dealing with the history of
Archery as relating only to women, a volume might be filled with the
stories of the marvellous military exploits of the warlike ladies who
lived in the East.
But leaving these and coming to medieval times we are told of a stirring
incident, during the plundering of a village in Usbec Tartary, by some
soldiers belonging to the Emperor Aurunzebe's army. An old woman warned
the plunderers to desist, threatening them with the vengeance of her
daughter should they continue. Her words having no effect the marauders
collected their prisoners and booty and were retiring when a damsel rode
up carrying bow and arrows and mounted on a warlike steed. She boldly
summoned the soldiers to release their prisoners and return their
plunder, and promised that if they did so their lives should be spared.
Finding that no attention was paid to her, she then raised her bow and
shooting three or four arrows, emptied a corresponding number of saddles
among the enemy. In return the soldiers attempted to shoot her, but
finding that their weak Indian weapons were not equal to her Tartar one,
and that their numbers were being lessened by her incessant shower of
arrows, the veracious historian tells us they released their captives,
too late, however, for their own safety, as those who did not fall to
her arrows were put to death by the sword. Truly a remarkable episode.
In Dr. Southey's _History of the Cid_, it is stated that Clorinda, a
Moorish Queen, "was so skilful in drawing the Turkish bow, that it was
held as a marvel," and it is said that they called her in Arabic,
Nugneymat Turga, which is to say, "Star of the Archers."
Hansard, in the _Book of Archery_, writes of the Persian beauties of
the Harem, who were permitted to amuse themselves with Archery. These
oriental bow meetings he says, "take place within the recesses of the
Royal Gardens where, their black-bearded tyrant and a bevy of female
attendants excepted, no spectators are allowed to be present. The butts
consist of moistened sand enclosed in a wooden frame, and beaten into a
hard compact mass. These are set up in a slanting direction at the
boundary of some verdant alley, where the over-hanging branches of vine
and orange tree exclude the fierceness of an Eastern Sun. Consistent
with that gorgeous taste so prevalent throughout the East, the whole
exterior of this butt is covered with elegant scroll work and patterns
of flowers. Gold and silver intermingled with various pigments of the
most brilliant hues, are lavishly employed to produce this effect. A
female Abyssinian slave stands beside the mark, provided with a large
round pebble, to form and preserve an unbroken hollow in the centre, and
at this cavity every arrow is directed. She repeats the operation
several times whilst her mistresses are shooting: for the triumph of
Persian archery consists not merely in a central shot, but also in
making the arrow penetrate deeply into the sand at every discharge."
Still more striking are the words of a French traveller named Gentil,
who speaks of a race of Amazons, seen by him in the retinue of an Indian
Prince. They were about a hundred in number, were well paid, lived in
the Palace, and accompanied the Prince when he hunted, or formed his
body guard in time of war.
There are Prints and Records dating from the fourteenth century, which
show the fondness of the English women for sports. We find them in the
field with the men, sometimes taking part in shooting at the animals as
they were driven past them, and proving themselves no mean markswomen.
They are said often to have conducted a hunt entirely by themselves,
"winding the horn, rousing the game," and following it without any help
from the opposite sex. Strutt tells us that on these occasions, some of
them went so far as to wear divided skirts and sit their horses like
men, but we do not hear that the fashion became general.
[Illustration: _From a Harleian MS. in the British Museum._]
John Yonge, Somerset Herald, who attended Margaret Tudor, the daughter
of Henry VII., on her journey to Scotland for her marriage to James IV.,
states under the date Alnwick, 27th July, 1503: "Two mylle from the sayd
place, the sayd Erle (Northumberland) cam and mett hyr well accompayned,
and brought hyr thorough hys park, when she kylde a Buk with hyr bow."
In Sir II. Nicolas' _Household Expenses of Henry VIII._ we find these
entries:
May, 1530. Itm the same day paid to Scawsely for bowys,
arrowys, shafts, brode hedds, bracer, and shooting glove
for my Lady Anne xxxiijs iijd.
June. Itm the same daye paied to the King's Bowyer for iiij
bowes for my ladye Anne at iiijs iiijd, a pece xxiiijs
iiijd.
June, 1537. Itm payed to Charles Morley for Bowes, Arowes,
a qwyver, wt other thinge for my lade g'ce xijs xd.
These show us that archery was among the Royal amusements of this time.
Elizabeth is said to have been extremely fond of hunting, and to have
been expert with her bow. Roger Ascham, a great lover of archery who
wrote the first treatise on the pastime, and after whom the long
cupboards so well known to every archer are named, was Elizabeth's
tutor, though whether he initiated her in the mysteries of the art is
not known, but certain it is that during this Queen's reign archery was
a popular pastime among the ladies of the Court.
When Elizabeth was being entertained by Lord Montecute at Cowdray, in
Sussex, it is stated in _Nicol's Progresses_ that "On Munday at eight of
the clock in the morning her Highnes tooke horse and rode into the
parke, where was a delicate bowre prepared under the which were her
Highnesse musicians placed, and a crossebowe by a Nymph with a sweet
song, delivered to her hands, to shoot at the deere, about some thirtie
in number, put into a paddock, of which number she killed three or four,
and the Countesse of Kildare one. Aug. 18th, 1591."
It is stated on this occasion, that the Queen was surpassed in skill
with the bow by her favourite Lady Desmond, the latter, however,
courtierlike, avoided giving her mistress any cause for jealousy, by
judiciously missing her quarry occasionally. Again Robert Cary, Earl of
Monmouth, speaking of events which happened in 1596 says "the Queen came
to dinner to Enfield House, and had butts set upon the park to shoot at
marks after dinner."[5]
[Footnote 5: Memories of Robert Cary, Earl of Monmouth.]
Lady Berkeley is said to have "used the longbow, and was in those days,
among her servants, so good an archer at the butts, that her side by her
was not the weaker, whoes bowes, arrowes, gloves, braces, scarfe, and
other ladylike accomodation, I have seen and heard herself speak of them
in her elder year."[6]
[Footnote 6: MS. Memoirs of the Berkeley Family.]
Lady Shrewsbury also was an adept in the use of the bow, as we find Sir
F. Leake writes to her husband: "My right honourable goode Lorde,--Your
Lordeshyppe hath sent me a verie greatte and fatte stagge, the welcomer
beynge stryken by your ryght honorable Ladie's hande; I trust by the
grace of God, he shall be meanlie eaten at thes assizes, when your
Lordeshyppe and my ladie shall be often remembered. My bold bucke lyves
styll to wayte upon your Lordeshyppe and my Ladie's comyng hyther;
howbeit I knoe her Ladishipp takes pitie of my bucke sense the last tyme
yt pleases her to take the travell to shote att them. I am afræyde that
my honourable Ladies Alathea and my Ladie Cavendish will commande their
aroe heades to be verie sharpe: yett I charitablé trust that such good
Ladies wyt be pittifull." (1605).
From this time until the revival of archery at the end of the last
century, its practice among women appears to have been gradually
abandoned.