Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-07-26
- OF the South


n ICE PRESIDENT - OF the South
AFvs Mountain Fishing Club wore gloomy ex-
AVA preston on his face as he sat examin-
NV ing closely written postal card The
secretary looked across the table at him
ana grew solemn. The other three members
OF the club, the president, the vocalist and the
conmissary colonel, had gone on up the river a
rev hours before to prepare for the slaughter
OF the black bass that was to be begun the Ext
DAY on the arrival Of tn whole party at the
fishing grounds.
Inc secretary, after studying the vice presi-
dents face for a moment whispered solemnly in
iHE STAR mans ear: The waters muddy"
The postal card had come from the boatman
on the fishing grounds shortly after the depar-
'ure OF the president and his companions. 1t
announced with cruel brevity:
water muddy; bait ine."
As the vice president read Il over tho ten.b
time his eyes rested on his rod and tackle with
look OF deep disappointment. Here was a
pretty piece Of business; half the club ON the
way in search Of days sport and the rest cut
on by an announcement of muddy water. The
vice president declared he would not 60: that
there was nothing but catfish and cells in
muddy water, and no member of the South
Mountain Fishing Club should drop a line to
sucn game. And then he swore-not pro-
zane oath, but solemnly swore that he would
not go hshlng any more; that the water was
always muddy. The more he swore that he
would never fish again the more longingly his
eyes rested on his tackle Gradually a soft
hight came into his eve as his hand rested on a
light split bamboo rod.
He says the bait is fine {" he said as his ewes
again turned to the postal card ..Mavbe the
river isn't so muddy; maybe il will clear off !"
and he balanced his rod daintily. 'sMaybe the
president will telegraph us that il is clearing
The bait is fine! bod rot that Monocacy empty
ing Its muddy water into the river II is the
meanest stream in the world 1t is muddy
after a three months drought But the bait il
hne. With good bait we ought to get some
thing. There is no use talking about it. I'm
not gong to fish in muddy water" he broke
we don't hear from the president? He ought
to know enough to telegraph us. He may say
II all right. But if he does we can't tell He
may want US to be caught because he is"
MESSAGE TO COME.
The secretary acquiesced in all this, but kept
on preparing his tackle. Presently a messen-
ger boy came running in with a dispatch. 1t
was from the president
1t ran: Water clearing; bait dying Come"
What did l tell you!' broke forth the vice
president In passion. "It's Just blamed bad
luck. Any one knows that we can't fish with
DEAD bait: wontgo. That settles it," Then
ne settled down in way to show that that did
settle 1t. The secretary worked on with his
tackle.
In moment the vice president leaped up
out OF the dumps. What are you waiting
for5' he cried to the secretary. Don't you
know we will miss the tramp In a moment
he had gathered up his tackle and buckets and
bags Il would not so at ALL" he said, depre-
cahngly, If 1t were not for your insisting
fOr ha fat tAox -. L
HE STAR man, is to be our guest"
OFF AT LAST.
So started the last fishing excursion of the
famous South Mountain Fishing Club. The
president and other officers OF the club having
gone before, the vice president the secretary
and the club photographer. with The SrAR man
as guest, were to take the last afternoon
train on the Metropolitan branch for the upper
Potomac. We were all assembled but the pho
tographer. The train was ready to start, vet
he did not assemble. Neither mis- camera nor
his whiskers came in sight The vice president
was nervous and the secretary remarked that
they were bound to get a six-pound bass and
would have no means OF preserving its picture.
On the rear end of a Baltimore express which
left ahead of the Branch train the secretary
thought he saw a man with whiskers and a
camera. holding on like grim death as the train
shot out. But that could not be the club pho
tographer, for that train went in another di-
rection. Yet ii was the club photographer.
who had come late and rushed breathiessly
down the platform. and chung to the last plat
form of the first train he saw moving ont
While the rest of the club sped gsily along
wondering which it would be, dead bait or
muddy water. the photographer was being car
RED away to be landed far from fish and far
from friends at some moss-grown way station
The bass is game fish. He is shy, he is
strong, he is clever and quick. He is more
than a match FOR any but the most skilful
anglers. But when the South Mountain Fish
ing Club takes to the river it is a cast strike.
struggle, and the gamest fish with fins lies in
the bottom Of the boat They know the eddies
and the pools and the shaded places behind
the rocks where the bass lies in hiding, and
he cannot refuse their invitation when thew
drop him a line. The Potomac is full of these
hsh, but 1t Is not every one who can catch
them.
POLITICAL ISAAC WALTERS
There is dash OF romance and poetry In the
club. They would not think of fishing in a
canal or off wharf. They fish only amid wild
and beautiful scenery. They seek some lodge
far from the haunts Of man on the wild banks
OF the upper Potomac, and after a night spent
In reciting past experiences and in other
equally innocent amusements they start before
the sun rises and are soon floating down the
river silently, casting they CO.
This time they led the way to a spot many
miles up the river known to but few outside Of
the club. A walk from the station along the
banks Of the dried canal where now and then
a canal boat lies stranded, to q little white-
washed stone house on the river bank and
there's the lodge.
The vocalist has a sentimental soul and an
eye for beauty. Lying in the dried canal,
where 1t had been left by the last great freshet.
with the young willows growing up about it, he
pointed out an old canal boat A tangle-haired
child stucR it's head from the window; a maiden
OF shapely form and face wildly fair leaned
gracefully against the deck house with her
hands clasped behind her head, and the old
man rested against the tiller, while his whiskers
waved in the wind. The vocalist dropped a
few notes OF a song as he passed and becom-
ing blush rose to the cheeks of the lass
In a bend Of the road, where q cool spring
pours from the side Of hill into little dell.
rooted by a mammoth beech, with limbs
knotted and interlaced and gnarled roots that
form convenient seats beside the spring the
vocalist pointed out the names, the verses.
double hearts and true lovers knots that
Scared the trunk Of the great beech, and he
had to be led away by force before he could
sing several love songs that arose to his
tongue.
AT THE FISHING LODGE. |
That night at the lodge the vocalis. disap-
peared, and presently the sound of his voice |
and the splash Of his oars came floating over |
the water, while the rest of the South Mountain |
Fishing Club exchanged experiences under /
solemn pledge OF truthfulness, and in other |
ways put in the evening Of amusement and