AN AFTERNOON AT SAGAMORE POND.
It was about the middle of March. We were fishing up at the SagamorePond--Rod Nichols and myself; fishing through the ice for pickerel.
When the country in this part of Maine was first settled, the Sagamore,as well as all the other ponds and lakes, abounded with lake trout, or,as they were then called, _togue_ trout--great, broad-backed fellows,weighing from twelve to twenty pounds. But it was foolishly supposed bythe early settlers that it would be better to have pickerel instead, oftrout in these waters. So pickerel were put into nearly every pond andlake in this section. They are the most voracious of fish, very strongand savage, and soon destroyed the trout.
Those of the Sagamore are larger than the pickerel in most of the ponds.It takes a strong line to get them out of the water. Through a hole inthe ice this is more easily done; but it is no small job to cut such ahole when the ice is two feet thick. Rod and I were an hour and a halfhacking ours with a hatchet, that afternoon.
It was not far from the shore--eight or ten rods, perhaps--but betweenus and the bank there was a wide, open place, worn away, or thawed, by a"springhole" along the shore. The afternoon sunbeams, falling on theglass-bright surface, were reflected under the ice, and lighted up thewater as far out as where we had made our hole. We could thus see allthat was going on under us, though the water was nearly twenty feetdeep.
We had fished in this place before, and knew how to take advantage ofthis clear water, for it's always pleasant to see what one's about. Itis fully half the sport to see the fish biting.
After skimming our hole, we dropped in a hook baited with a _shiner_--wehad a jug full of them--and waited for a bite; watched and waitedpatiently and confidently, but it didn't come. Not a fish could be seenin all the clear depths beneath. This was unusual, as well as vexatious,for the Sagamore was known to be well stocked with pickerel, and theygenerally took the hook readily. But an hour passed without so much asa nibble at our bait.
It was a fine, sunny afternoon. Everything was still. There was noteven the cawing of crows to be heard. Presently, looking across to theshore, we saw a large black creature watching us from an old pine stump,that was some four or five rods from the water.
"Fisher-cat, isn't it?" said Rod.
It did look like one, certainly. It was black, and about the same size.
"Suppose he'd show fight if we should go round there?" continued Rod,looking leisurely for the hatchet.
Poor success fishing had made him a little pugnacious, I suppose; and ascrimmage with a fisher-cat, or carcajoe, when you can get one to faceabout, isn't bad fun for those who enjoy such sport, and are willing torun the risk of getting scratched and bitten.
In explanation, I should say that the "fisher-cat" is a member of theweasel family. Naturalists call it the _Mustela Canadensis_, or Canadaweasel; a pretty big weasel, to be sure. Hunters and trappers hate itmost heartily, for it will follow them all day on their rounds, takingthe bait out of their traps as fast as they can set them.
Well, if we could not catch any pickerel, perhaps a little fracas withMr. Snarly-face, over there, would be the next best thing; and I wasjust drawing up my line, when there came a heavy tug at the bait, nearlyjerking the line from my hands. There was not only one tug, but a seriesof tugs and rushes to and fro, making the water fairly boil in the hole.
I had hooked a big one, and he was testing the line to the utmost, andrasping it across the sharp edges of the ice. Holding it steadily,however, the struggle gradually ceased, and looking down into the water,we saw a noble fellow, slowly waving his fins on the sand, at the bottomof the pond.
"Isn't he a thumper!" exclaimed Rod. "Five or six pounds, certain!Fish enough for one day."
He had become pretty docile, and I had drawn him up within six or sevenfeet of the surface, when, with a sudden plunge, a long, dark animaldarted through the water, and seizing the fish, passed out of sightunder the ice, like a black streak. I pulled sharply at the line, once,twice--then it snapped.
Here was a surprise.
"What on earth was that?" cried Rod.
But there was nothing further to be seen. A few bubbles came strugglingup through the water, but the creature had gone, and so had the fish.
"It couldn't have been that fisher-cat," said Rod.
"No, indeed! Who ever heard of a fisher-cat, or any other cat, swimmingten rods under water!"
"But he is gone from the stump."
"Well, let him go. That wasn't him."
"What was it, then?"
That was a question easier asked than answered. We were fairly "stuck,"as Rod expressed it, and stood staring into the hole. Suddenly therewas a wavy motion, deep down, below the surface, and we saw the creatureshoot back, by the hole, with the fish in his mouth. We had just a dim,refractive glimpse, and he had passed, going toward the shore. We lookedin that direction, and a few seconds after, saw a flat, black head popup a moment into sight from the open water, and, then it disappeared. Wewatched for some minutes, but it did not come up again.
"Rather a strange performance, anyhow," muttered Rod.
"But let's go round to the shore, and see if we can find the fisher."
Going to the shore, we saw that the bank shelved off abruptly into deepwater; and in one place it was worn smooth, and was icy, as if someanimal had been sliding from it down into the pond. Other than thisthere were no traces.
So, first cutting a couple of stout clubs, we went to the pine stump,where we had seen what we had taken for a fisher. He was gone; but wediscovered a hole in the top of the stump, that went down under theground, and looking into it saw a broad, black muzzle, and a pair ofwicked little eyes gleaming up at us.
"Hollo!" cried Rod, "here he is;" thrusting in his stick. The headvanished.
"But that's no fisher; their noses do not look like that. It was toobig and _blunt_. I'll tell you what," exclaimed he suddenly; "it's anotter! That was one out in the pond, too. Did you ever see one?"
"No."
"Nor I; but I've heard old Hughy Olives tell about them; and that's justwhat this is."
"What about them? Will they fight much?"
"Fight when cornered, Hughy says, like young tigers, too. Dogs are nomatch for them. But their fur's valuable."
"That's so. We must get this one if we can."
"There may be more than one. They live two and three together,sometimes, Hughy said, in burrows, opening under water. This couldn'tbe the one that stole our fish, either. It might have been though; forthis hole probably leads out into the water, under the bank. Let's seeif it doesn't."
We ran to the edge and looked over. The water was six or seven feetdeep.
"Stamp on the ground," said I.
Rod did so; and a moment after I saw a long, slim animal glide out fromunder the bank and dart off beneath the ice--then another.
"Yes, here he is; two of them."
They didn't come up in the open water, but must have gone off under theice. I suppose there were air-holes through it, where they came up tobreathe.
They were otters; no doubt of it. But how to catch them; that was thenext question.
"Hughy spoke of setting traps for them," said Rod.
"So we can! Your father's old bear-trap! Set it down under the bankhere, where their burrow opens out into the water."
"Agreed."
And home we went after the trap. It was nearly three miles, but we weresoon there, and took the trap from the garret, where it had been restingfor a dozen years. It was heavy, and must have weighed sixty or seventypounds. But we hung it on a pole, and resting the ends of the pole onour shoulders, started for the pond; and a fine sweat it gave us beforewe reached our destination.
The next thing was to set it. The springs were so rusty and stiff thatwe had to use a lever to bend them, and we came near getting caught init once or twice; but it was set properly at last, and _sinking_ it atthe entrance of the burrow we chained it to an old root.
The next afternoon we went to see what success attended our efforts.There was nothing stirring about the stump, and creeping cautiously downthe bank, we looked over. The trap had been sprung and drawn up intothe burrow, partly out of sight. Pulling it out by the chain, sureenough, there was a long, sleek, black fellow in it fast by one of hischubby legs. But he was quite dead--drowned.
The great weight of the trap had prevented his coming to the surface.And although an otter can remain under water for nearly two minutes, yetat the end of that time he must come to the surface, like anyair-breathing animal, or be suffocated.
We were jubilant. Taking him out, we carefully replaced the trap in itsold position and went home with our game, where, calling in theassistance and advice of old Hughy, we proceeded to take off the skinaccording to standard rules.
The fur was of a light brown color, thickly interspersed with blackhairs, which gives the animal at a little distance the appearance ofbeing wholly black. The ears were small and far apart, and the feetshort and webbed like a goose. The entire length of the animal,including its tail, was nearly five feet; but Hughy thought this onerather above the average size.
The next day we caught another otter--a smaller one; and about afortnight after, a third met his fate in the jaws of the old trap.
We received twelve dollars apiece for these skins, and felt very wellsatisfied with oar afternoon's sport at the Sagamore.
----
HOW JACK WENT TIGER-HUNTING.
Jack was reading Du Chaillu. He spent a good deal more time that nightover Du Chaillu than over his Latin.
His mother and Bessy were seated by the fire, and presently he came overand turned his back to the grate, putting his hands behind him, with aswaggering way he had.
"I've got an idea, mother!" he said.
"I'm glad of that." said Bessy, under her breath. Mrs. Leigh shook herhead at her.
"Well, my son?"
"Du Chaillu's in this country, you know?" Jack's face was red, and hisvoice like a trumpet, from excitement.
"I believe he is."
"Oh, I know it, ma'am! I saw in the paper he was lecturing in New York.And he's going back to Africa next fall. And I--I've made up my mind togo with him!"
Bessy stared.
"To Africa?" said Mrs. Leigh, folding her hem.
"Yes, mother." Jack was a little damped to find his views received soquietly.
"That is, with your permission. But you see all through this book he isinviting the boys to go. He was but a lad when he killed his firstlion. He says nothing would delight him more than to take some finecourageous fellow into the jungle, and teach him how to trap elephantsand hunt tigers. Oh, if I could wing a tiger with my gun!"
"Will you thread my needle, Bessy? I think if you wait, you will be abetter shot in a year or two, probably, Jack."
"You think I couldn't stand it," blustered Jack. "Why, I've got muscleson me like iron. I tell you, nothing would please me better thanfooting it through the jungle for months, eating leopard and monkeysteaks, and fighting gorillas. Those negroes were poor stuff forhunters, I think! Used to give out in a week or two. So did Du Chaillu.Why, I could go on for months, and never complain."
"Who was that whining over his grammar, awhile ago?" asked his sister.
"That's a very different matter," stammered Jack angrily. "What kind ofsense is there in _amaba--bis--bus_! That's stuff! If I had a chancewith my gun now, at a lion, say--
"If you cannot conquer nouns and verbs, Jack," said Mrs. Leigh, "I amnot afraid for the wild beasts."
"As for Bess, she needn't laugh," growled Jack. "What does a girl know,with her curls, and paniers, and folderols? She never even read DuChaillu;" and he stamped into the dining-room and began to kick off hisboots.
"You should not tease your brother, Bessy."
Bessy laughed. She was a fat, pretty, good-tempered girl, very fond ofJack and just as fond of squabbling with him.
"He is such a fellow to brag, mamma. Now I know he'll be at it again.There he comes."
Jack came in and leaned with his elbows on the table, watching hismother and thinking.
"Now Du Chaillu and those fellows," he broke out, "had a way of skulkingbehind trees and shooting at animals from ambush. I don't approve ofthat. I would not do that. The way to meet a wild beast is to fix youreye on him boldly. Look him straight in the eye. What are you laughingat, Bess? I tell you scientific men say there's nothing like the powerof the human eye. Then when I had him fixed, I'd take aim deliberatelyand fire. I'd have him at an advantage, you see. Mother, there's afire! I hear the bells!"
"Yes."
"Can I go? Just to see where it is? Only to the corner? I won't go astep beyond the corner, I promise you."
"Very well, Jack, I trust you."
Jack's word, when he gave it, was as good as his oath, and although thestreet was quite dark, yet as they lived in a quiet part of the city hismother saw him go without fear.
There was a good deal of noise and confusion outside. An engine ranpast and men shouting; but in half an hour Mrs. Leigh and Bessy heardJack coming leisurely up the steps, whistling and talking.
"Here, sir! Wheet! wheet! This way. In with you. Gracious, mother,how dark this hall is! Why don't Ann? Wheet--wheet! There!" openingthe back door, "stay there till morning." He shut and locked the dooragain and came into the parlor.
"'Twasn't much of a fire--near two miles off--somewhere about theNorthern mills."
"There was great confusion," said Mrs. Leigh.
"There always is. Now if I was the captain of a fire company, I'dmanage differently. I'd say to this man, go here, and to that man, gothere, and they should not dare to utter a word. Then the fires wouldbe put out."
"Who was that in the hall, Jack?" inquired Bessy.
"A big dog; a most tremendous fellow. He came running alongside of meon the street, and turned up the steps as I did. Somebody's lost him, Isuppose. I put him in the yard till daylight, and then I can see himand look up his owner."
"Was he a pretty dog?" said Bess eagerly.
"How could I tell? I told you I didn't see him. As he brushed by me, Ifelt that he was a strapping fellow. The hall's as dark as pitch."
"You didn't fix him with your eye, then?"
Jack said nothing, but lighted his candle and went to bed.
The next morning he was awakened by a thumping at the door, and inrushed Bessy, wild with excitement, the morning newspaper in her hand.
"O, Jack, listen to this!" jumping on the bed and beginning to readbreathlessly:
"ESCAPE OF WILD ANIMALS.--The fire of last night communicated with thestables where the animals connected with Drivers' Menagerie were storedfor the winter, and several of them escaped. They were promptly pursuedand captured, with the exception of the Bengal tiger, that was last seenmaking its way toward the southern part of the city. At the hour of ourgoing to press no traces have been found of the animal."
Bessy laid down the paper. Her eyes were set deeper in her head thanusual, and they burned like coals. "Jack!" she gasped, "what do youthink?"
Jack's face, and neck, and very ears were scarlet. He stammered, and didnot seem nearly so tumultuous as usual.
"I think it's in our back yard," he said, at last. "I wish you'd get outof this, Bessy. I'll--I'll get up and call a policeman."
"A policeman! What on earth can he do with a tiger?" cried Bessy, indiscomfiture. "Why, I thought for sure, Jack, you'd fix him with youreye; or wing him. Sha'n't I bring you your gun to wing him?"
"Perhaps I will," said Jack loftily. "But I must be dressed first."
Bessy went out, but sto
od just outside of the door, trembling andquaking, her hand on the knob. Her mother had gone out early. Usuallyshe had very little dependence on Jack, or his bravery, but anything inthe shape of man or boy is a comfort to a frightened woman, and all ofJack's boasting came back soothingly now to Bessy. In half a minuteJack had scrambled into his clothes and was out.
"Have you seen it? Where is it?"
"It's in the coal-shed; in the darkest end. Ann's got the back doorstight locked and bolted, and she's up in bed with the pillow over herhead. There's your gun, Jack."
Jack took the gun, and still in his stocking feet, went on tiptoe toreconnoiter. From the second-story window he saw that the yard wasquite clear. Just by the house stood the coal-shed, dingy and dirtyenough at ordinary times, but now covered with the mystery and horror ofan African jungle.
"You think it's in there, do you?" he said, under his breath.
"Oh, Ann heard it! Such a horrible roar! Up in the very back part.How will you get at it to shoot it?"
"I'll call in the police as soon as I'm sure it's the tiger. If it wasin the jungle I'd face it. But such animals are always doubly furiousfor being confined."
"There's a knot hole in the shed. You can peep, Jack. He won't seeyou."
But Jack was growing unaccountably pale, and his teeth were chattering."I'd--I'd rather not open the door--on your account, Bess. He might runin."
"Fire your gun and he'll dash out into the yard!" cried Bess, notknowing whether to laugh or cry, in her excitement. "Good gracious!what will the girls say at school when they hear we've had a real tigerin our shed. If you'd only shoot him, and we'd have him stuffed."
"I mean to shoot when he comes out."
But Jack's fingers shook so as he adjusted the trigger that one wouldhave thought he had the palsy.
"I'll tell you what to do!" shouted Bessy, clapping her hands. "I'll godown to the kitchen window, and throw a bone out in front of theshed-door, and when he rushes out for it, you look if it's the tiger ornot."
"Very well."
"Unless you'd rather throw the bone," hesitated Bessy, her heart givingway.
"There's not the least danger for you, Bessy. And I'm a better judge oftigers. I'm more familiar with their habits than you."
Off went Bessy, and finding a half-eaten roast of beef in the pantry,she opened the kitchen window, her heart choking her as she did it, andflung it out with all her strength. There was a rush from the shed, butBessy had closed the shutters and was flying up the stairs. Halfway upstood Jack, pale and breathless.
"Was it the tiger?"
"Yes."
"Oh, Jack!" Bessy clasped her hands. "Is he--is he big?"
"Oh, he's a monster. His eyes are like coals of fire." Jack jerked outthe words as he dashed down the stairs and out of the front door,shouting, "Police! police!"
One can easily guess what followed then. When Mrs. Leigh came home frommarket, a dense crowd packed the street for half a square from herhouse, on the outskirts of which skirmished women, with babies in theirarms, boys open-mouthed, and cart-men cracking their whips, whose horsesstood waiting in a crowd at the corner. In front of the door stood oneof the vans of the menagerie. Wild cries of "The tiger!" "The lion!"resounded from side to side, and every time the door opened the crowdfell back, expecting him to charge on them. Way was made for Mrs.Leigh. Everybody looked at her with respect.
"He's in your house, ma'am."
"It was your son that discovered him."
Mrs. Leigh hurried in, terrified at the thought of what might havebefallen her children. The house was filled with men. Policemen werein full force to keep order. The keepers from the menagerie had a netsuspended over the door of the shed, to catch the tiger when it shouldrush out. Half a dozen men stood with guns ready pointed, in case heshould attack them.
"But don't fire, unless in case of absolute necessity," pleaded thekeeper. "Consider the cost, gentlemen. That beast is worth, as hestands, two thousand dollars."
"What's your two thousand dollars to us?" growled one of the men,cocking his gun. "Consider our lives."
Nobody as yet had seen the tiger but Jack, who stood in an upper window,the observed of all observers.
The keepers went on with their preparations. It was their plan to shootinto the shed, over the tiger's head, and when he charged on them,capture him in the net.
"Let every man take care of himself," said the keeper. "Fire if we donot secure him. Are you ready, men?"
The men, with pale faces, lowered the net. "All right!"
"Look out, then. One, two, three!"
"Bang!" went the pistol over the beast's head. There was a moment'spause, and then a fierce dash and a shriek from the people, caught upand echoed by the crowd outside. The men tugged at their net andcaught--
"Brown's big yellow dog!" shouted the policemen.
"Where's that young coward that fooled us?" The keepers raged and thecrowd cheered.
But Jack had hidden away with his shame and could not be found. Henever was known to brag again.
Budd Boyd's Triumph; or, The Boy-Firm of Fox Island Page 27
