The Automation Advantage Embrace The Future Of

Productivity And Improve Speed Quality And

Customer Experience Through Ai Bhaskar Ghosh
download
https://ebookbell.com/product/the-automation-advantage-embrace-
the-future-of-productivity-and-improve-speed-quality-and-
customer-experience-through-ai-bhaskar-ghosh-42248276

Explore and download more ebooks at ebookbell.com

Here are some recommended products that we believe you will be
interested in. You can click the link to download.

The Automation Advantage Embrace The Future Of Productivity And

Improve Speed Quality And Customer Experience Through Ai 1st Edition
Ghosh

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-automation-advantage-embrace-the-
future-of-productivity-and-improve-speed-quality-and-customer-
experience-through-ai-1st-edition-ghosh-36460166

The Automation Advantage Embrace The Future Of Productivity And

Improve Speed Quality And Customer Experience Through Ai Bhaskar Ghosh

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-automation-advantage-embrace-the-
future-of-productivity-and-improve-speed-quality-and-customer-
experience-through-ai-bhaskar-ghosh-42225250

Executive Power Use The Greatest Collection Of Psychological

Strategies To Create An Automatic Advantage In Any Business Situation
1st Edition David J Lieberman

https://ebookbell.com/product/executive-power-use-the-greatest-
collection-of-psychological-strategies-to-create-an-automatic-
advantage-in-any-business-situation-1st-edition-david-j-
lieberman-2354464

Smart Enough Systems How To Deliver Competitive Advantage By

Automating The Decisions Hidden In Your Business James Taylor

https://ebookbell.com/product/smart-enough-systems-how-to-deliver-
competitive-advantage-by-automating-the-decisions-hidden-in-your-
business-james-taylor-56593960
The Automation Systems And Instrumentation Dictionary With Cdrom
Fourth Edition 4th Ed Theodore G Dimon

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-automation-systems-and-
instrumentation-dictionary-with-cdrom-fourth-edition-4th-ed-theodore-
g-dimon-5428114

A Guide To The Automation Body Of Knowledge Third Edition 3rd Edition

Nicolas Sands Ian Verhappen

https://ebookbell.com/product/a-guide-to-the-automation-body-of-
knowledge-third-edition-3rd-edition-nicolas-sands-ian-
verhappen-30972830

Work In The Future The Automation Revolution Robert Skidelsky Nan

Craig

https://ebookbell.com/product/work-in-the-future-the-automation-
revolution-robert-skidelsky-nan-craig-10845470

Socialbots And Their Friends Digital Media And The Automation Of

Sociality 1st Edition Robert W Gehl

https://ebookbell.com/product/socialbots-and-their-friends-digital-
media-and-the-automation-of-sociality-1st-edition-robert-w-
gehl-6739298

The Robot In The Next Cubicle What You Need To Know To Adapt And
Succeed In The Automation Age Larry Boyer

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-robot-in-the-next-cubicle-what-you-
need-to-know-to-adapt-and-succeed-in-the-automation-age-larry-
boyer-46394144
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
the side of a menhaden, and weighing about three ounces, two hundred,
aye, nearly three hundred feet into the curling breakers of the Atlantic
ocean, and kill bass that will pull down the scales at fifty, sixty, and seventy
pounds.
A mode of preparing a bass line to render it light and water-proof,
without weakening it, is recommended by excellent authority, and is simply
to soak it for one night in fish oil which does not rot linen, to hang it up to
drain the following day, and to place it in mahogany sawdust to dry. When
thus prepared it does not soak water, nor even sink.
Fly-fishing for bass, however, is the perfection of the sport, and
infinitely surpasses in excitement all other modes of killing these noble fish.
The best season on the Potomac is in July or August, and the favorite hours
the early morning or the twilight of the evening. The ignorant and debased
natives who inhabit the romantic region of hill and valley in the
neighborhood of Tenally Town, about five miles northwest of Washington,
and who, dead to the beauties that nature has lavished around them, and
utterly unacquainted with scientific angling, look merely to their two cents
per pound for striped bass, manufacture a fly by winding red or yellow
flannel round the shank of a large hook, adding sometimes a few white
feathers. They substitute for rod a young cedar sapling, denuded of bark and
seasoned by age, and attaching to the upper end a stout cord, fish with the
large flannel swathed hook in the rapids and below the falls of the Potomac,
at the old chain bridge, and without a reel, kill bass of twenty or thirty
pounds.
No spot can be imagined more wild and romantic, and with proper
tackle, the reel, the lithe salmon rod, and the artistic fly—no sport can be
more exciting. The roar of the angry flood, the bare precipices topped with
foliage on the opposite bank, the flat dry bed of the stream where it flows
during the heavy freshets, but at other seasons a mass of bare jagged rocks,
and the dashing spray of the broken current lend a charm to the scene.
While the fish, rendered doubly powerful by the force of the stream, and
aided by the numerous rocks and falls, have every chance to escape.
The bass pursue the silvery herring, which is the principal natural bait,
and ascend the Little Falls of the Potomac during the summer months in
vast numbers. They are captured in such quantities with the net in the salt
water and with hook and line in the rapids, as to be almost a drug in the
market.
As the season advances, the native crawls upon some rock that reaches
out into the stream, and with his coarse but elastic cedar pole, casts the roll
of flannel, wrapped round a hook and misnamed a fly, into the seething
current; and when the brave fish seizes the clumsy allurement the fisherman
contends for the mastery as best he may, occasionally at the risk of a
ducking in the stream consequent upon the sudden breaking of his tackle,
and accompanied with considerable risk. When a man has but a slight
foothold upon the slippery surface of a shelving ledge, and has attached to
the end of his rod a vigorous fish of twenty pounds, he is apt to fall if the
line parts unexpectedly. Many are the tales of such accidents, and now and
then of fatal results. But with proper tackle, the scientific angler is master of
the situation; he can reach any part of the current, casting into the eddies at
the base of the precipitous cliffs opposite; he can yield to the rush of the
prey; can retire, paying out line, to surer footing, and can follow the fish
along the shore; and finally, having subdued his spirit and broken his
strength, can lead the prize, gleaming through the transparent water with the
sun’s rays reflected in rainbow colors from his scales, into some quiet nook
where he can gaff him with safety. Such is fly-fishing for striped bass amid
the most lovely scenery, gorgeous in its summer dress of green and
alternating hill and valley, dotted with pretty farms and smiling grain-fields;
and there is but little sport that can surpass it.
Bass are also taken at the Grand Falls, ten miles further up the river; but
the Little Falls are their favorite locality, as they are here just passing from
the salt tide into the pure, sparkling, broken fresh-water. They frequently
weigh twenty pounds, and occasionally much more; but, of course, the main
run is smaller, and the number killed in lucky days is prodigious, being
counted by hundreds.
Bass are said to be taken with the fly in other rivers of the Southern
States, and also to a certain degree in those of the north. At the mouths of
narrow inlets, where the tide is rapid and diluted with fresh-water, a gaudy
red and white fly with a full body, kept on the surface by the force of the
current and not cast as in fly-fishing, will occasionally beguile them; but
generally speaking, bass are not fished for with the fly north of the
Potomac.
 Although the artistic angler naturally despises the miserable flannel
abortion manufactured by the stupid boors of Tenally Town, it will often be
found as good a lure as though composed of the rarest materials; in fact the
bass exhibit none of that daintiness of choice that is universal with salmon.
So long as the fly is large and showy they seem to be satisfied, and their
immense mouths can readily grasp a No. 7 hook, such as the natives
occasionally use. One of half that size is abundantly large, however, and the
clearer the water the finer should be the tackle. The rod, reel, and line are
those appropriate to salmon fishing, although the line, if it is wet by salt-
water, should be afterwards rinsed in fresh to prevent rotting. Some
fishermen fasten a float above the fly, and paying out line let it run down
stream into distant eddies; but this is not so orthodox a mode of proceeding,
and does not require equal skill nor as delicate tackle.
After a fish is struck, the same care has to be exercised if he is heavy that
is necessary with the salmon, and he will often compel the angler to follow
him a long distance ere the gaff terminates the struggle. Bass make very
determined but not such rapid runs as their fellow-denizen of the flood, the
salmo salar, but rarely retain that reserved force which makes his last dash
so often fatal; nevertheless they are resolute and powerful, and have to be
handled with care.
Another mode of taking bass, which is strongly recommended, even for
the open bays of the north, by one of our best fishermen, but which I have
only tried in the narrow coves, inlets, and streams, where the tide-way can
be covered by a good cast, is to use the salmon rod, line, and reel, but to
substitute a shrimp for the fly. The casting is then done in the ordinary
manner, and the gentleman referred to claims, that it is by far the most
killing mode. If even equally successful, it is certainly far preferable to the
use of the float and sinker, or to the dull monotony of bottom fishing. Any
sport that brings into active play the faculties of body or mind, and which
demands practice and experience, surpasses the one that requires the merely
passive quality of patience.
The most successful, and excepting perhaps fly-fishing, the most skilful
method of taking the striped beauties of the northern coasts, is with the
menhaden bait, cast into the boiling surf of the ocean, or the larger bays;
and this sport is universally enjoyed along the iron-bound shore of New
England, from New London to Eastport. This entire reach, is one mass of
rock, indented by innumerable bays, or severed by inlets into barren islands,
where the tide rushes, and the surf beats; and in every favorable locality are
the bass taken with a stout rod, a long line, and menhaden bait. From almost
every bold rock, or prominent island, can the angler cast into the vexed
water of some current, made by the huge waves rushing over the uneven
bottom, and allure thence the fierce bass, who has been attracted from the
ocean depths, to feed on the small fry that hide in the clefts and crevices;
and waiting with fins often visible above the tide, to pounce upon his prey,
mistakes for it the angler’s bait, and after a brave struggle surrenders to
human ingenuity.
Although the true fisherman may pursue the small fish of the Delaware
or Hudson, of New York Bay or the Sound, may patiently bide their time at
Hackensac or Pelham bridges, McComb’s dam or the hedges; and may have
true pleasure in capturing them with dancing float and shrimp, or running
sinker, and shedder crab; if he can spare a week or two, he should cut adrift
from the noise and turmoil, foul stenches, and fouler deeds of the city; and
hastening to Newport or Point Judith, enjoy the noblest sport of the salt
water—bass-fishing with menhaden bait. He will need stout nerves, strong
muscles, good tackle, and abundant skill; for he will be called upon to cast
with the utmost of his power, perhaps a hundred yards, and to strike and
land fish that may weigh half a hundred pounds. He will be exposed to the
sea-breeze, or it may be the storm wind at early day-light, and the spray
from the salt waves, and wet and cold will be his portion; but he will forget
these trivial evils, when he strikes the bass of forty, fifty, or sixty pounds,
the fish that he has been living for, and when he lands him safely on the
slippery rocks.
Fishermen of character have been known to assert, that they could cast
with the rod, the ordinary menhaden bait, one hundred and twenty yards;
and although from a high stand, with the aid of a strong wind, this is
possible, the ordinary cast is not over half that distance, and to exceed one
hundred when standing on a level with the water is rare indeed. In fact,
seventy-five yards is a good cast, and no man need be ashamed who can put
out his line fair and true that distance. Rather better can be done with the
hand-line than with the rod, but with far greater fatigue, and a painful over-
exertion of the muscles of the arm that is almost unendurable to one who
has not steady practice. The length of cast is in a measure controlled by the
direction and violence of the wind and the elevation of the stand above the
water; in a contrary wind the best angler will find it difficult to reach
seventy-five yards, while from a high rock, with a favorable wind, he will
cover that distance with ease.
The use of the hand line is neither artistic nor adapted to gentlemen who
fish for pleasure, although more killing probably than the rival method. For
rod fishing, the best tackle and implements are necessary; the rod must be
short and stout, the finest being made of cane at a fabulous expense; the reel
should have steel pins or run on agate, be made large and perfectly true, and
the line must be from two hundred to three hundred yards long. Cane rods
are preferred on account of their lightness and elasticity, but they are at
present almost unattainable at any price, and the ordinary ones will answer
well, although after several hundred casts weight will be found to tell on
unaccustomed muscles. The objection to jewelled reels is, that a fall or blow
may render them useless, while they run but little smoother than those with
steel pins. The reel and guides must be large to deliver the line freely, and if
the line is seen to bag during the cast between the guides, it is a sure sign
that they are too small. The line is of twisted grass or raw silk, which is the
best but most expensive and delicate; of plaited silk, which is the strongest;
or of linen, which is cheap and common, but as they are all easily rotted, is
the one in general use. The grass line, if it overruns and whips against the
bars of the reel, is sure to cut, but it delivers beautifully; the silk line soon
becomes water-logged and sticky; and the linen one combines these defects
with a faculty of swelling when wet peculiarly its own. A perfect bass-line
is a desideratum not yet supplied. The American reels and cane rods are
perfection, but the lines are a cause of reproach and vexation of spirit.
Casting the menhaden bait is similar to casting the float and sinker, only
the power is enormously increased and deficiencies proportionally
magnified. The line is wound up till the bait, if a single one, is almost two
feet from the tip, the rod is extended behind the fisherman, who turns his
body for the purpose, and then brought forward with a steady but vigorous
swing that discharges it without a jerk, like an apple thrown from a stick by
rustic youths. The reel is so far restrained by pressure of the thumb that it
revolves no faster than the bait travels, but does not in the least detain it,
and upon the accuracy of this manipulation mainly depends the result. If too
much pressure is used, the line cannot escape rapidly enough and falls
short; if too little, the reel overruns and entangles the line, stopping the cast
ere half delivered with a jerk that threatens its destruction. The fisherman
must be able to use either hand on the reel to rest his arms and to take
advantage of the wind.
If he is an adept he will drive the greasy bait straight and true directly to
the desired spot, and if the weather is favorable and the fates propitious, he
will bring up some scaly monster of twenty-five or mayhap thirty pounds,
who will start seaward with bait, and hook, and line, and only be persuaded,
after many efforts and determined rushes, that it is in vain. The strong ocean
breeze will play with his hair and the salt spume wet his cheek; the vessels,
like floating marine monsters, will drift across the waste of waters before
him, the seagulls will hover round uttering their harsh cry, and he will cast
and cast till arms and legs are weary, and he may kill in a single day a
thousand weight of fish. The fresh air will give such a tone to his system,
and the exercise such strength to his muscles, and the excitement such vigor
to his nerves, that he will hardly believe himself the same relaxed,
despondent, listless individual that left the city a week previous.
The most famous localities for the sport are West Island and Point
Judith; the former is reached by the way of New London, and the latter by
the Connecticut shore line of railway to Kingston. West Island has lately
been purchased by a club of gentlemen, but will not probably be reserved
exclusively for their use, as the neighboring islands being free to all no
special privileges could be secured. There is often great difficulty in
obtaining bait, particularly during a storm, which is the time that it is most
needed, as the fish bite best in rough weather, and on going from the cities it
is well to pack a few hundred menhaden in a box with ice and sawdust, and
thus insure a supply for some days ahead.

VAIL’S.
 POINT JUDITH.
It is a long, weary, and dusty ride by the way of the New Haven and Shore
Line Railroads to Kingston; but if, at the end of the journey, a pretty little
widow, with hazel eyes, is found waiting to drive over to the South Pier in
the stage, and you are the only other passenger, you will probably consider
yourself repaid for all annoyances.
It is seven miles from Kingston to the South Pier, the driver may happen
to be a little tight, very sleepy, and wholly unobservant of what is passing in
the back of his vehicle. Moonlight is either reflected with great brilliancy
from hazel eyes, or else hazel eyes originate a brilliancy akin to moonlight,
and certainly moonlight, hazel eyes, white teeth, rosy lips, soft hands, and a
slender waist, are very bewitching in a close carriage of a moonlight night,
with a preoccupied driver. Some women have a smile like sunshine, and
their laugh rings like a chime of bells; and if you happen to be riding alone
with a pretty widow, and something suggests love-making, and her merry
laughter slowly dies away into a gentle smile, and the smile fades into a
look of sympathetic feeling, that you have to draw very near to see, till you
feel her palpitating breath upon your cheek, and her hand trembles when by
the merest accident you touch it, and the ride occupies an hour or more, you
may, before the South Pier is reached, almost forget that you are married.
If this fortune befalls you at the station, you will probably fail to notice
the beauty of Kingston village and Peace Dale as you pass through them,
and will find the subsequent lonely ride from South Pier to Point Judith dull
and dreary. Some two miles from the Pier is a house kept by John Anthony,
the son of Peleg, where sportsmen most do congregate, and where all their
reasonable wants, except the wherewithal to quench their thirst, can be
supplied, and which is situated within a few steps of the best fishing
stations. John Anthony is a Yankee born and bred, honest, faithful, willing,
and acquainted with all the habits, devices, and iniquities of bass and blue
fish. He will tell you that in May, when the grass plover have their long
note, and are heard far up in the air travelling northward, bass are to be
caught with the eel-skin; that in June, when high blackberries are in bloom,
they begin to take lobster bait; but from July 1st, and all through the fall,
they take menhaden, otherwise called bony fish or moss-bunker, the bait
that the true and skilful sportsman loves to cast.
In July and August, the largest fish, occasionally bass of fifty and even
sixty pounds, rejoice the heart of the angler by surrendering to his skill,
while in the Fall, although more numerous, they are smaller. In both these
particulars, the fishing at Point Judith and West Island, and further
northward, differs from that in the vicinity of New York. Great success,
however, depends upon several contingencies. It is supposed that the Gulf
Stream, that prolonged current of the Mississippi River, which sweeps with
its warmer temperature through mid ocean carrying a genial atmosphere
and fertilizing showers to the otherwise arid shores of France and England,
changes its course yearly, approaching our coast and sending its swarms of
living creatures among the rocks of Narragansett Bay, or withdrawing so as
to leave us desolate and to increase the severity of our winters. We all know
that our cold seasons differ greatly in intensity, and bass fishermen know
that success in fishing varies equally; but from what cause these results
flow, no one can positively say.
After a heavy storm has darkened the water by washing impurities from
the shore, and at spots where the dashing breakers fill the sea with foam, the
bass bite most fearlessly. Every crested wave rising against the horizon ere
it breaks, flashes with their sparkling scales, and so sure as the bait cast
from the powerful two-handed rod reaches that wave, so sure is it to be
grasped by the nearest bass. The breakers drive the spearing and other small
fry from their hiding-places among the rocks; the discolored water blinds
them to their danger, and bass trusting themselves in the very curl of the
heaving swell collect in myriads to the welcome banquet. But as the
discoloration misleads the spearing so it also conceals from the bass the line
attached to the treacherous bait, and the latter, while pursuing remorselessly
his prey, becomes himself a victim.
Neither shrimp nor soft crabs are used in this style of fishing, and the
earliest bait, the eel-skin, is prepared by stripping the skin off the tail of an
eel from the vent aft to the length of about a foot, leaving it inside out, and
drawing it over a couple of hooks so placed on the line that one shall project
near the upper and the other near the tail end. A sinker of the size of one’s
little finger is inserted at the head, and the bait is cast by hand and drawn
rapidly. The rod is not often used in this style of fishing, as the heavy bait is
apt to sink ere it can be reeled in. The skin is frequently salted to increase
its firmness, and when used must be kept in continual motion, to the great
fatigue of the enthusiastic angler.
The menhaden bait is prepared by scaling it and then cutting a slice on
one side from near the head to the base of the tail, passing the hook through
from the scaly side, and back through both edges, so that the shank is
enveloped and the flesh is outwards, and then tying the bait firmly with a
small piece of twine that is attached to the hook for that purpose. A
menhaden or bony fish furnishes two baits, and the residue, except the back
bone, tail, and head, is cut up fine, called chum, and thrown into the water
to make a slick. A slick is the oil of the menhaden floating over the waves,
and extended frequently by tide or current a long distance, attracts the bass,
by suggesting to them that their prey is near at hand.
Where the water is clear it is customary in rod-fishing, which is the only
scientific mode, to use two hooks; the smaller, some two feet below the
other is attached to a fine line or gut leader, and denominated without any
apparent reason the fly-hook. Many of the best fishermen never use more
than one bait, and where the fish are large and plenty, one is sufficient. The
fly bait is not generally tied on, but twisted round the hook in a manner
difficult to describe.
Lobster bait is deficient in tenacity, and has to be tied on like menhaden,
and probably the natural squid would be an effective and manageable bait,
could it be provided in sufficient quantities. Limerick hooks, except those
manufactured expressly for the purpose with a round head, are in great
disfavor, having a bad reputation for strength, and a stout but small cod
hook is usually preferred. With skill, however, and plenty of line, the
fisherman is more to blame than the steel, for the breaking of the latter. The
best hook is now manufactured with a round head and is fastened to the line
with two half hitches, the end again hitched above them so as to take the
friction; and as it is carried off by the first blue-fish, or in the Yankee
vernacular horse mackerel, that takes a fancy to it, the angler must be well
supplied.
The Bait, especially a single one, is light, but experienced hands claim to
be able to cast it more than a hundred yards, a feat that the tyro will scarcely
credit; but ordinarily half that distance is all that is requisite. The line
should not be less than six hundred and may be a thousand feet long, and if
of flax should not be over fifteen strands. The rod, reel, and line, must be of
the very best, and the guides and funnel top large, or the angler will fail to
do himself justice, and will probably lose his largest fish.
The friction is so great in casting, that the thumb must be protected by a
thumb-stall or cot, as the natives call it, or better yet, one for each thumb, so
that you can cast from either side, and snub the fish with either hand. They
are made of chamois leather, India-rubber, or some equivalent material; and
in casting by hand, a similar protection is required for the forefinger. A
shoemaker’s knife is admirably adapted to cutting bait.
If, then, familiar with these things, you shall have chosen a favorable
time during or at the close of a south-easterly storm, and at break of day,
accompanied by John Anthony, shall have posted yourself upon Bog rock,
or the Quohog, which is New England and Indian for hard clam, or upon
the famous Scarborough, that great station in a heavy north-easter, you may
anticipate brave sport. The waves will come rolling in, streaming out in the
wind like a courser’s mane, with snowy crest, and breaking with thundering
roar they will sink back seething with foam. As the tide rises a few drops
will fall pattering upon your feet; shortly the waves will leap up to your
knees, then plunge into your pockets, reach to your waist, pour down your
neck, and if you are not on the watch will lift you in their embrace and fling
you torn and wounded down among the sharp-pointed rocks. You must wear
water-proof clothes, and while you keep your eye on the line you must not
neglect the inrolling swell, but avoid or brace yourself to meet its shock.
And when the bass seizes your bait, and you have fixed the hook by one
sharp blow, you must be gentle and moderate, only using severe measures
where they are absolutely necessary. If the blue-fish comes, and he does not
carry away your hook at the first snatch, reel him in as quickly as his
indomitable pluck and vigor will permit. He is not game when you are bass-
fishing. If the ungainly flounder, exhibiting unexpected activity, shall chase
and grasp your bait, lug him out by main force, treating him, though
excellent to eat, like the vulgar commoner he is.
When the day is advanced, and the game has grown wary, you may rest;
and looking out to sea, perchance behold the blue-fish chase the menhaden
and the porpoise devour the blue-fish, and the thresher shark plough his
way through schools of lesser creatures, killing with blows of his powerful
tail, and then devouring his prey at his leisure. You may listen to the “wild
waves singing,” and watch the continual change of the sky and water,
enjoying the refreshing breeze and pure air, or amuse yourself by throwing
in the head of a menhaden, and noting how quickly the bass that refuse your
bait will strike with a great whirl at the floating object.
Two fishermen engaged with their sport were once standing upon a rock
together, when one struck a very large fish supposed to weigh over seventy
pounds. The sea was high and wild, and made it difficult to gaff the fish,
after a wearying struggle had reduced him to submission. A favorable
opportunity was watched when three heavy rollers had passed, covering the
rock with spray, and the other fisherman darted to the edge of the surf to
make the attempt. Unfortunately the bass, not being quite exhausted, made
a short run that delayed the operation, till a gigantic wave, rolling in
unheeded, caught the preoccupied fishermen unawares, engulfed them in its
green waters, flung one down bruised and sore, and carried off the other
who held the gaff, and was nearer the brink, into the deep water beyond.
Poor fellow, he could not swim, and the terror of approaching death passed
across his features as he looked up beseechingly and tried to cling to the
steep and slippery rocks. The waves tossed him about like a plaything,
bringing him close to the rocks, dragging him away, and then cruelly
hurling him against them. His friend was powerless to save him; but having
a stout line, and the fish now floating exhausted upon the surface, shouted
to the drowning man to catch the line and support himself by it. This was
accomplished, and amid the dashing surf, alone with the shadow of death
upon the water, the skilful fisherman, working his way carefully among the
rocks, giving to the strain of the surging sea, but gaining every inch of line
the strength of his tackle would permit, led the man and the fish, floating
side by side, into a cove that was in a measure sheltered from the fury of the
waves.
Slowly the line came in; the man lived, and still clung to it, and although
occasionally submerged, managed to sustain himself sufficiently. Nearer
and nearer he came, quite close even to the shelving rocks, and twice during
a lull could have climbed them in safety, had not his strength been too
greatly exhausted. He made a feeble effort, still clinging, however, to the
line, but was carried back by the receding current, and it became apparent
his life depended upon his friend’s ability to help him.
This was no easy matter; the strain upon the line was excessive, the
rocks were wet and slippery, and the sea frequently swept across with
resistless force. Shortening the line as much as possible, the friend crept
down towards the edge, and taking advantage of the first lull, called to the
drowning man to cling fast with his hands for a moment, and rushed down
to seize him. The instant, however, the line was relaxed, the water carried
away its feeble victim, who was quickly beyond reach. Ere he could be
brought back a tremendous wave, resolute to devour its prey, came
thundering in; it rose above points that had projected many feet out of
water, it dashed in flying spray high up upon those that it could not
overwhelm, its crest gleamed and hissed, and with one mad leap it sprang
over the intervening ledges and threw itself upon the fishermen with fearful
power. The one upon the rocks was beaten down, and only by falling in a
crevice and holding fast with all his strength was saved from being carried
off. When the wave passed he struggled to his feet and looked down into
the deep water for his friend. The line was broken, and man and fish were
swept away together.
Danger never deterred a sportsman, but rather seems to enhance his
enjoyment; and there is just sufficient risk and enough cold water to make
fishing from the rocks a pleasurable excitement. The fiercer the storm and
the wilder the water the better the fishing, and the peril is more than
counter-balanced by the sport. Occasionally, at these times, a fisherman will
be lost, but more frequently he will capture the gigantic fish that has been
the ambition of his life; and if he does perish it is in a good cause, and he
has the sympathies of all his ardent brothers of the angle.
Bass, like other fish, do not feed in a thunder shower, but during the
latter part of a north-easterly or south-easterly storm, and immediately after
when the wind has hauled to the westward and made casting easier, they are
taken in the greatest quantities. In fact it is hardly worth while to fish for
them at any other time.
At Point Judith there are some bay snipe and plover after the fifteenth of
August, and the quail shooting which begins on the twentieth of September
is quite good. Blue-fish or horse-mackerel are not pursued for sport, but
rather pursue the angler, taking off his hooks and cutting his line with their
sharp teeth most unmercifully. In fact a story is told of one that deliberately
bit through the line above a large bass that had been hooked, and apparently
released him designedly, from fishy friendship.
That excellent but neglected fish the porgee, which the inhabitants call a
scup, is plentiful, and also the tautog or black fish; and the bergall, which
they denominate chogset or cunner, a worthless fish, is so abundant as to try
the fisherman’s temper by continually devouring his baits.
When the sea has subsided and the fishing is over, and you have as many
fish as you want nicely packed in ice, you will have to drive over to the
depôt behind the laziest horse, unless Anthony buys a new one, that it was
ever your misfortune to ride after. The boyish driver, however, enterprising
like his father, will poke and whip and utter that peculiar word
comprehensible only to horse-flesh, “tschk,” and if the animal does not
absolutely lie down in the ditch you will make the seven miles in about two
hours and a half, and be thankful that you have done so well; having
reached home, what stories you will tell of the large fish you captured and
enormous ones you lost, of the dangers you ran and how beautifully you
cast, and your friends that receive of the game will believe in you.
 THE SOUTH BAY.
One cloudless day in the fervid month of July, a handsome, bright-eyed
youth of something over twenty summers, opened the gate of the little yard
in front of Deacon Goodlow’s house and strode with an elastic step towards
the side door. He was evidently at home and felt no need of ceremony, for
without pausing to knock he turned the knob and entered.
The deacon’s house was one of those innumerable romantic little white
cottages with wings added after the main structure, that dot the flat surface
of Long Island, or Mattowacs, as the poetical Indians once elegantly named
the wonderful sand-bar; it was hidden in trees and almost covered with
vines, and had an air of superiority and taste somewhat unusual.
“Well, Katy,” said Harry, addressing a sprightly, rosy-cheeked maiden
that he encountered inside, busy at some pottering woman’s work; “what do
you think, now? Your father and mine are going fishing to-day. I left them
talking it over, and arranging that they were to drive over in your father’s
buggy, as our solitary horse is needed for other purpose.”
“I am glad of it, Harry; Mr. Hartley takes too little recreation, and father
does so like a day on the Bay. He was speaking about it only yesterday.”
“But how odd that they should go alone; I wonder why your father does
not take you, you like the Bay almost as well as he does.”
“Pretty nearly,” she replied with a laugh; “I love the breeze and the
water, especially when we run outside and plunge into the monstrous waves
of the ocean. It seems so fresh, and limitless, and powerful.”
“Yes, and you like to pull out the blue-fish; it is not all poetry, for to tell
the truth, I have always felt convinced from your way of looking at them,
that every time you caught a fish you thought of the pot and fancied how
nice he would be on table.”
“Take care, sir, or the next time we go I will leave you to your own
devices in the way of cooking. Do you remember when I found you trying
to cook a big blue-fish on a long stick, over a huge hot fire, without any salt
or butter?”
“But the old folks will be sure to fall out over politics or polemics, and
come home in a dudgeon, as they have been near doing before this, your
father is so fiery; I hope, for my future peace, his daughter does not take
after him.”
“Now, Harry!” accompanied with a deep blush, was all the answer, and
Katy was turning away, knowing instinctively how to punish her saucy
lover, when Harry hastily continued:
“I think I have prevented that, however.”
“Have you? How?”
“I suggested something else for them to talk about, that will occupy their
thoughts most of the time.”
With a shy, sidelong glance, like a bird alarmed but uncertain of the
danger, Katy replied:
“And what subject was that, pray?”
“Our love, Katy.”
“A very silly subject, that need occupy nobody any time at all. You had
better say your love, sir.”
“Now, darling, don’t tease, I have only a moment, or I shall be too late
for the cars.”
“Then, why not go at once? I am full as busy. Was not that Jane calling
me?” She made a great show of leaving, but managed to remain, evidently
anticipating something of importance from her lover’s manner, and in a
female way dreading though desiring the disclosure.
“Wait one instant; I need not repeat how I love you, you have heard that
often.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“But to-day I am to be admitted to a partnership with my old employer,
who kindly offered it, with some complimentary remarks, so late as
yesterday.”
“You deserved it long ago.”
“Not at all, I was well paid for my services; but now”—having drawn
the willing but skittish beauty towards him, he whispered—“now I can keep
a wife.”
Her lips were close, her cheeks were tempting, her eyes turned away, her
hands busy with the buttons of his coat, it is not certain he took advantage
of these opportunities; but suddenly starting into life, she gave him a gentle
tap on the ear, pulled away, and turning to hide her blushes, called out, as
she darted from the room:
“You must catch her first, and the train starts in twenty minutes.”
“So it does,” he muttered, as the delighted look of admiration with which
he had regarded her faded slowly from his eyes; “what a darling witch, it is
so full of fun, and yet, as the neighboring poor can testify, so gentle,
generous, and sympathetic.” A thousand thoughts of all the loving acts he
would do for her came into his mind as he hastened towards the depot.
“Well, friend,” said Mr. Hartley, as the two deacons were journeying
along at a sober gait in the old-fashioned but comfortable buggy of the
wealthier, “what a beautiful day it is, not merely for our sport, and it could
hardly be better, but to admire the beauties of nature! The summer foliage
looks truly gorgeous in the broad sunshine.”
“Yes, indeed, and the influence of such a day must be felt by the moral
nature of man. Even upon man debased by vice, I believe in the country as a
moral purifier, and think a system should be devised by which criminals
would be thrown in contact with it as much as possible.”
“I agree with you fully, and had an evidence this morning how it opens
the heart and emboldens the affections. You know Harry has long been
attentive to your daughter Katy, and I believe they have had a sort of half
understanding.”
“A fine fellow is Harry; true, honorable, and energetic,” said Mr.
Goodlow, heartily.
“He is so, and I, as his father, am proud to admit it; but Katy is a noble
girl, and worthy of the finest fellow in the world.”
“Well, we start the subject with a hearty accord,” replied the friend,
smiling; “I can readily imagine what will follow, and have no doubt we will
be equally of accord on that.”
“The short of it is, Harry has just been placed in a position that
authorizes him to marry, and he wants you to trust Katy to him. On the
subject of support he was satisfactory, and on that of love enthusiastic. He
hoped your favorite minister would perform the ceremony.”
This last remark was uttered very slowly, for it must be known the two
deacons belonged to rival churches and different persuasions, and had had
many a contest over form and ritual.
 “That is a matter of small moment,” was the response, “but if any form
should be simple it is the marriage ceremony. I really think it had better be
performed in your church, where there is less regard for formality.”
“And for that reason I coincided in my son’s selection; our church
teaches us that while we are not to insist upon forms as the essence of
religion in any of its departments, we are not to indulge prejudice against
them. That they are immaterial either way.”
“A strange view, indeed,” responded the opposing deacon, warming to
the question; “strange that any one could conceive that the form in which he
expressed his adoration was unimportant; in all religion, prayer takes the
form of the bowed head and bended knee. Unseemly postures and acts are
themselves irreverent, not to advert to the effect they must produce upon the
mind that indulges in them on serious occasions. We owe to our fellow-men
respectful deportment on solemn occasions, how much more so to our
Creator. Form is the embodiment of the spirit of true worship, and partakes
of its essence and beauty.”
“We fear,” responded his associate, “that form, from its very beauty, may
distract the heart and engross the attention to the neglect of the essentials of
devotion. Pleasing forms are beautiful to our senses, but God looks to the
pure heart and humble mind; the formalities of religion too often hide an
aching void of real principle, and while they quiet the conscience produce
no good fruit in the soul. Therefore, we dread them, lest though the
sepulchre be whited on the outside it hide rottenness within.”
They were both intelligent men, devoted to their sects, which although in
belief almost identical, in forms were dissimilar; and they enforced and
illustrated their views with great vigor, learning, and eloquence, and with
the ordinary effect of religious discussions, that each was finally more
firmly convinced that he was in the right. The hopes of their children were
forgotten for the time, an occasional sharp innuendo added spice if not
acerbity to the argument, and before their destination was reached a feeling
of coldness, approaching dissatisfaction, had sprung up between the two
friends.
There were no blue-fish running, and it was determined to try the striped
bass that, although small, had begun to be plentiful, and in case of their
absence to tempt the flounders, sea bass, black fish, or other like plebeians.
In silence they pulled off to the fishing ground, and silently they cast
overboard the anchor-stone and baited their hooks. Fishing has a calm,
soothing influence incompatible with anger or estrangement. Occasional
remarks were made which would doubtless have soon led to a perfect
reconciliation had not the Fates prominently interfered. Mr. Hartley, who
rowed the boat, had stationed himself in the bow, and strange to say began
to take fish as fast as he could land them, while Mr. Goodlow, in the stern,
usually the favorite location, caught nothing.
Fishing is a contemplative amusement, but when one contemplates his
associate catching all the fish the amusement vanishes. Deacon Goodlow
was a devotee of the gentle art, fancied himself an expert, and never
doubted his far excelling his less experienced brother; had great faith in
skill as opposed to luck, having often expatiated upon the fact that he rarely
found an equal, and felt fully convinced that in skill he was not excelled.
Now skill is a very necessary thing and will tell in the long run, but luck
is sometimes, doubtless for a wise purpose, permitted to triumph over it. In
vain did the unfortunate deacon renew his baits, change the depth of his
sinker, fish on the bottom or near the top; the result was the same. His
irritation increased and broke forth into ejaculations of impatience, and a
sudden desire to move to some other spot.
“There seem to be no fish here, we had better try a new place,” he said
pettishly.
“I am doing very well, and doubt whether we could better ourselves,”
replied his associate with that hilarity that success engenders, landing two
bright little bass at once.
“You do not call that good fishing, they are mere sprats. I have taken
many a bass of twenty-four pounds, and two of over fifty.”
“But you know the run is always small in this month.”
“Of course I know that; but I never saw such luck, you must have taken
twenty, such as they are.”
“More than twenty, thirty at least; but perhaps we had better change
places, I have taken more than I want and you had better try your hand.”
After some demur and a coquettish but half sulky refusal to deprive him
of his “good luck,” Mr. Goodlow complied with his friend’s suggestion, but
wonderful to say the luck changed at the same time; the fish all fled to the
stern of the boat and were landed there faster than they had been previously
over the bow. In fact, one line seemed to be bewitched as though the fish
were in a piscatorial conspiracy. Even when the unfortunate fisherman
extended his line and allowed his float to swing round beyond the stern and
even alongside of his companion’s, that of the latter would be dragged
under at every moment, while his would remain undisturbed.
“Well, I have seen luck before,” he began, fiercely, “but never such luck
as this; how deep are you fishing?”
This question, as betraying the possibility of inferior judgment, fairly
stuck in his throat.
“About three feet.”
“Mine is the same. No, it is mere luck, that is all.” Anger was making his
language slightly ungrammatical.
Mr. Hartley replied, as he landed another brace: “Of course it is, and
now let’s change seats again and see if we cannot outwit the fish.”
Being patronized by an inferior fisherman is almost unbearable, it
implies triumph with nothing to justify it; and an assumption of superiority
will be suspected if not intended. So Mr. Goodlow held out for a time,
saying slightingly: “Oh, it was a mere question of luck, mere luck that must
soon change;” but as it did not, and as his friend’s manner was soothing and
even submissive, he at last consented, with the air of conferring a favor, to
resume his old place in the stern.
At the first cast which Mr. Hartley made after returning to his seat at the
bow, he hooked and landed the largest fish yet seen. This was too much, and
if people swear inwardly it is greatly to be feared the unfortunate deacon
will have to report hereafter one of the commandments broken on that
occasion.
“Come,” he said, “we will go home; another time perhaps I can have a
little luck. I used to think there was something like skill in fishing, but there
does not appear to be in catching these miserable little fish.”
“Why, my last one must have weighed two pounds.”
“Two pounds! Not an ounce over one. I have had enough for this day,
and the sun is remarkably hot.”
“Oh, I cannot go just yet; here comes another, nearly as large as the last.”
“I insist upon it,” Mr. Goodlow continued, having reeled up his line and
taken apart his rod. “I will not stay longer, my horse must be fed, and it is
late.”
 “When a person comes out fishing,” replied Deacon Hartley, growing
irritated, “it is a poor way to be wanting to go home because another
catches the fish, especially as I am perfectly willing to divide equally.”
“What do you think I care for those puny little fish? You may keep them
all, in welcome.”
“I suppose I may if I wish; they are mine because I have caught them, or
nearly all; but I will give you half if you will cease grumbling at what you
call your luck.”
“Well, what is it if not luck! Perhaps you think you surpass me in skill
and experience,” answered the other sneeringly. “I tell you I am going
home. It is my horse, and you may come or stay, as you choose.”
With that he seized the oars and shipping them into the nearest rowlocks,
commenced furiously rowing the boat stern first. But the anchor-stone was
down, and although he dragged it a few inches, he did so slowly and with
great labor. Mr. Hartley went on deliberately fishing, but of course could
catch nothing while the water was being disturbed.
“Pull up the anchor-stone, sir,” said Mr. Goodlow fiercely, the
perspiration streaming down his face.
“I will do nothing of the kind,” responded Mr. Hartley.
The tugging at the oars was resumed, but when Mr. Goodlow was nearly
exhausted, whether by accident or not will probably never be known, the
oar slipped along the surface throwing a shower of water over the quondam
friend, fairly taking away his breath. Without a word the latter dropped his
rod, and seizing the bailing scoop, a sort of wooden shovel with a short
handle, dipped it full of water and threw the contents in his companion’s
face; the latter replied with a fresh douche from the oar.
The water fairly flew in mimic cataracts for ten minutes, till both parties
were wet to the skin; originally, scoop had the best of it, but as skin and
clothes will not take wetting beyond a certain degree, oars caught up, and
the two irate lights of the church were as well drenched as if they had fallen
overboard. Mutual exhaustion produced a cessation of hostilities, and after
a moment’s pause, Deacon Hartley slowly drew up the anchor-stone, and
Deacon Goodlow rowed silently to shore. Without a word, without a glance,
the latter stepped to his buggy, untied the horse, jumped in and rode off.
Mr. Hartley had to secure the boat, collect his fish, unjoint his rod, and
walk four miles home. The day was hot, the road was dusty, the fish were
heavy, and tired enough he would have been, if an acquaintance passing in a
wagon had not taken him up. The dust having covered him from head to
foot helped disguise what had happened, and he allowed the gentleman to
think he had slipped into the water.
The thoughts of the two deacons on the way home were not enviable.
One had to meet a son, the other a daughter, and the latter dreaded the
interview most; not that he admitted he was most to blame, but fearing
more her sharp eyes and reproachful countenance.
“Oh, Harry,” said the pretty little girl usually so gay, now with sad-
looking tearworn eyes, as she encountered her astonished lover on his way
home from the railroad, “your father and mine quarrelled dreadfully to-day,
so much so that they would not ride home together.”
“Just as I expected,” replied Harry, triumphantly; “your father is so
easily excited.”
“No, but he says it was your father’s fault, at least he does not say so
directly, but what he does say gives me that impression. Just think, your
father threw water over mine, and he was all mud and dirt when he reached
home.”
“Impossible,” said Harry, with a laugh, “he must have fallen overboard.”
“Oh, no, and your father would not ride home with him.”
“How did he get home then? he certainly would not have walked by
preference four miles, on so hot a day as this. Imagine his half killing
himself to deprive a person of his company who wished to be rid of him.”
“Oh, it must be; father was so angry, he told me I should not see you
again.”
This response was illogical, and went far to disprove itself, but was
enforced by her bursting into tears. “I have been crying ever since,” she
sobbed.
Harry consoled her, sure of her affection; and knowing that parents are a
slight affair against affection, he brought back smiles to her lips by his
comments on her account of her father’s statement, and promised her it
would come right if she only kept on obeying as scrupulously as she was
then doing. She punished him for this by flying away in her former merry
manner, leaving him to seek an explanation at home.
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

ebookbell.com