Down South Part 22

"I hope not," I replied.

"We had better let the man's wife go than have him following us in this sort of fas.h.i.+on. How came the fellow up here, when we left him at Jacksonville this forenoon?"

"I suppose he came up in that steamer," I answered, pointing to a boat a couple of miles up the river. "The hands ought not to have let the fellow come on board."

"The rascal is a regular butcher, and we must all follow the American fas.h.i.+on of carrying a revolver."

"I see just how it was: we had to run in at the side of this pier, so that a steamer that had occasion to stop here could make a landing at the end of the wharf."

"Is that the reason why that villain wanted to stab somebody?" asked Owen, with a wondering stare.

"Well, not exactly. The crew of the Sylvania were on the forecastle, under the awning, for I saw them rus.h.i.+ng aft when I heard the woman scream," I continued.

"Then it was because the crew were on the forecastle?" inquired my cousin, with open mouth.

"When Griffin landed from that steamer, he probably saw Chloe on the quarter-deck, or if he did not, he went into the cabin and found her.

The crew being forward of the deck-house did not see him. She refused to leave the steamer with him, and he undertook to take her away by force," I explained.

"And you think that makes it all right, Alick?" asked Owen.

"I think not. If I had thought of such a thing as Griffin's coming on board, I should have set a watch to prevent him from doing so. I shall take this precaution in future."

"Does that mean that you will set a watch in the future?" asked Owen, seriously.

"That is just what it means: and one is lucky when the dull brain of a Briton catches the idea," I replied.

The appearance of the young ladies called Owen away, and I announced to the pa.s.sengers that they would want their fis.h.i.+ng-gear in the course of half an hour. I had plenty of fis.h.i.+ng-tackle of all sorts which I kept on board; and I knew that all the gentlemen in the cabin, unless it was Mr. Tiffany, were supplied with all the implements for fis.h.i.+ng and shooting. Cornwood had procured a supply of bait while we were at dinner. The fasts were cast off, and we backed out into the river. Ben and Buck had returned, having made their prisoner fast to the railing of the pier, at the suggestion of Mr. Benedict, who said he would look out for him.

The steamer stopped when she was clear of the pier, and then went ahead. The pilot said he was perfectly familiar with the navigation of Doctor's Lake, having surveyed it in the service of the State. The water was very shallow near the sh.o.r.e, where we had broken through the bushes to its brink; but it was said to be very deep in many parts. I had read that the frequent pa.s.sage of steamers over the waters of the St. Johns had driven the frightened fish into such places as Doctor's Lake. We entered its waters, and steamed several miles up the lake.

Then the pilot rang the gong, and the vessel was soon at rest.

We baited our hooks, and dropped the lines into the lake. Miss Margie was the first to hook a fish. After a hard pull she got him to the top of the water. It was a catfish weighing twelve pounds. The Colonel and Owen were disgusted. A catfish is an exaggerated hornpout, or "bullhead." None but negroes eat them at the South.

CHAPTER XXIII.

TROLLING FOR BLACK Ba.s.s.

"The idea of fis.h.i.+ng for catfish is absurd!" exclaimed Colonel Shepard.

"It isn't a proper use to put a white man to."

"Don't fish so deep, then," suggested Cornwood. "The catfish live on the bottom."

I was as much disgusted with the idea of catching catfish as the Colonel, for I had seen plenty of them caught by the negroes on the wharves at Jacksonville. I took a good-sized spoon-hook, with three hundred feet of line attached to it, just as I had used it in Lake Superior, and cast the hook as far out into the water as I could. I trolled it home, and obtained quite a heavy bite. I tried it again, and this time hauled in a fish that would weigh six pounds.

"What's that, Mr. Cornwood?" I asked, as I brought the fish inboard.

"That's a black trout," replied the pilot.

"Black trout!" replied the Colonel, who was a great fisherman. "That isn't a trout of any sort! It is a black ba.s.s."

"We call them black trout on the St. Johns, where they are very plenty at some seasons of the year," added Cornwood.

"He is not quite like our black ba.s.s of the lakes of the State of New York; his head is larger," added the Colonel, after he had looked the fish over. "Still he is a black ba.s.s, and a big one too."

"Do you call that a big one?" demanded Cornwood contemptuously.

"I have fished a great deal in the New York lakes, and I never saw a black ba.s.s that would weigh more than four pounds and a half, though I have heard of them that weighed five."

"I have caught them that would weigh twelve," added the pilot.

The Colonel looked at him as though he were a descendant of the father of lies. I had three more spoon-hooks, with the necessary lines, two of which I had bought on the northern sh.o.r.e of Lake Superior. It was odd to think of fis.h.i.+ng with them here in Florida. I sent Cornwood to the pilot-house, and told Moses to give the steamer about four knots an hour, for this was the way I used to do on Lakes Huron and Superior.

We had not room for more than four lines at the stern for trolling. I offered one of them to Mr. Tiffany; but he declined, pleading that he had no skill in this kind of fis.h.i.+ng. The Colonel, Owen, Gus Shepard, and I, handled the lines. Going at four knots, the screw hardly broke the water, though possibly it astonished the fishes. Our lines had hardly run out their length before two of us had each a fish on his hook. The Colonel and I brought in a fish apiece, about the size of the one I had caught before. Owen and Gus took their turn while we were getting our fish off the hook. My cousin lost his, but Gus got his on board. The sport was quite equal to blue-fis.h.i.+ng, which I had tried on the coast of Maine. In an hour we had twenty of them, all black ba.s.s.

Miss Margie wished she might fish; I told her to put on her thick gloves and she might try. I baited the spoon-hook with a live little fish the pilot had procured, and gave her the line. In a few minutes she was tugging away at a fish. He was unusually gamy, leaping out of the water a dozen times on his way to the boat.

"I can't get him any further, captain!" cried she, out of breath with her exertions. I took the line from her, and hauled in the largest ba.s.s we had yet seen.

"It would be wicked to catch any more, for we can't use them," said the Colonel. "Here, steward, weigh this fish, if you please."

The ba.s.s Miss Margie had caught carried the spring scale down to twelve and a quarter.

"Where is Mr. Cornwood?" demanded Colonel Shepard; and he rushed forward to the pilot-house. "Mr. Cornwood, I doubted your statement when you said you had seen a black trout, or ba.s.s, that would weigh twelve pounds. I beg your pardon, for we have one that will weigh twelve and a quarter."

"I hope you will yet catch a bigger one, Colonel Shepard," replied the pilot, delighted to be vindicated.

"Now let her out, and run for Green Cove Springs," I interposed.

The deck-hands wound up the lines; we were soon out of the lake, and again headed up the St. Johns River. All the party were exhilarated by the fine sport we had had on the lake, and they were devoting themselves to a particular examination of the fish. Ben Bowman laid aside the dignity of his office as a.s.sistant engineer, and proceeded to dress the fish, which he was better qualified to do than any other person on board. It was about six o'clock in the afternoon when we finished fis.h.i.+ng, and the cabin party were called to supper before we got out of the lake. As soon as they had sufficiently discussed the fish, they went below.

The mate relieved Cornwood at the wheel while the latter went to supper, which was ready at the same hour as the cabin meal. I preferred to take my supper with Washburn, and so I waited till half an hour later. I was talking with him about the fis.h.i.+ng, when Chloe came to the door of the pilot-house, and with her usual smile said she would like to see me. I went out on the forecastle with her, for I thought she had taken the particular time when Cornwood was at supper to speak with me.

"Captain Garningham, I am willing to leave the Sylvania when the boat gets to Green Cove Springs, for I know that I am making a great deal of trouble on board," said she, showing her pretty white teeth.

"I was not aware that you had made any trouble on board," I replied.

"It is your husband who has made all the trouble."

"Well, it is on my account; and if I leave the Sylvania, he will not trouble you any more," she added.

"I don't think the ladies in the cabin would be willing that you should leave."

"I am sure Griffin will be in Green Cove Springs to-night, and he will make a heap of trouble there as he has done to-day," continued Chloe.

"I don't want to keep you in hot water all the time on my account."

"We understand the situation better than before, and we shall have no further trouble with Griffin. I shall have a hand forward and another aft whenever we are at anchor, or at a wharf, so that he can't get on board of the steamer," I replied. "If you don't want to go with him, all you have to do is to stay on board."