Chapter XX: 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

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.