CHAPTER IX.

CAPTURE OF MY FIRST SALMON.

"An' than," continued Jock, "whan a muckle chiel o' a salmon, wi'oot time tae consider whether yer flee is for his waime or only for his mooth-whether it's made by natur' or by Jock Hall-plays flap! and by mistak' gangs to digest what he has gotten for his breakfast, but suspec's he canna swallow the line along wi' his mornin' meal till he takes some exercise!-an' than tae see the line ticht, an' the rod bendin' like a heuck, an' to fin' something gaun fra the fish up the line and up the rod till it reaches yer verra heart, that gangs pit pat at yer throat like a tickin' watch; until the bonnie creatur', after rinnin' up an' doon like mad, noo sulkin aside a stane to cure his teethache, then bilkin awa' wi' a scunner at the line, tryin' every dodge, an' syne gies in, comes to yer han' clean beat in fair play, and lies on the bank, sayin' 'Waes me!' wi' his tail, an' makin' his will wi' his gills an' mooth time aboot! Eh! mon! it's splendid!"-[Norman Macleod, D. D., in " The Starling."

Y impatience to make my first cast and take my first salmon was so great that the hours consumed in pitching tents, unpacking stores and arranging camp generally, seemed a sinful waste of precious moments. I did not wish, of course, to take advantage of the useful industry and greater patience of my companions; but I mentally voted them over nice in their anxiety to

"make things comfortable" when, in my state of mind, the only thing which seemed requisite to the supremest comfort was the capture of a salmon. With that result achieved, I felt that I could be abundantly comfortable sitting upon a bare rock at high noon munching hard tack and bacon. I must in some way have manifested my restlessness, for the General, trying to hide his kindliness under a very thin veneering of brusqueness, said to me, “D., you are of no earthly use here. I wish you would get out of the way and go a-fishing." As this remark was made several hours before we had mutually agreed to begin work, I felt some little delicacy about taking advantage of the "ticket-ofleave" offered me. But as in the language of modern theology, I had an "inner consciousness" that I really was of "no use" as a tent-pitcher, and had no tact as 66 a man of all work" in camp preparations, I soon found myself moving canoe-ward, with my salmon and trout rods strung and my nerves in a tremor in anticipation of "the good time coming" when I would no longer have to say "I never killed a salmon." I honestly meant to show my appreciation of the General's kindness by confining myself exclusively to trout waters. And my resolution was adequate to the emergency until I became weary of the slaughter I was making of

one, two, three and four-pound trout, and until (after floating below the shallow water) I was "brought up all standing" by the remark of my Indian canoe-man : "Trout plenty no more. Salmon pool here. If he should rise, trout-rod no good." My first impulse was to go immediately back to camp, and I had given the order to that effect when a grunt of surprise from my swarthy friend who could not comprehend how any one could enter a salmon pool and leave it unfished -induced me first to hesitate, then to countermand the order, and then to appease my conscience by the remark: "Well, I will make a few casts by way of practice." No sooner said than down went the anchor at the head of what I afterward learned was one of the best pools on the river. As I seized my great salmon rod-which seemed like a cedar beam after the eight-ounce switch with which I had been fishing—and began to gradually extend my cast, I felt as I suppose the raw recruit feels when he first hears the rattle of the enemy's musketry, or as some very timid men feel when, for the first time, they stand up before a great multitude of free and independent electors to entertain and enlighten them with those profound ebullitions of wisdom and those brilliant bursts of eloquence which are commonly considered the all-sufficient and matter-of-course ingredients of a

stump speech. I had reached a cast of perhaps fifty feet, in a direct line, and was watching my fly as intently as ever astronomer watched the unfoldings of a newly discovered planet, when a monster head emerged from the water, and with distended jaws-disclosing his red gills so distinctly as to make his throat look, to my excited imagination, like a fiery furnace— made a dash (which seemed like the splurge of a sea-horse) for my fly. It was my duty, of course, to accept the challenge and "strike" at the right moment and so hook my fish and take the chances for the mastery. But I had no more power to "strike" than if every limb and nerve and muscle was paralyzed. My rod remained poised but motionless, and I stood gazing at the spot where the apparition appeared, in speechless amazement, while the fly - which had, for a single moment, been buried in that great open sepulchre

reappeared upon the surface quite unconscious of the terrible ordeal through which it had passed. I do not know that any one could have "knocked me down with a feather" at that particular moment; but I do know that I never before came so near "going off in a faint," or found a cup of cold water more refreshing. I had heard of those who had had the "buck fever," and I shall hereafter have more sympathy and greater respect for them, for I undoubtedly had the malady in its most ag

gravated form, and felt, as my astonished guide said I looked, "pale as a ghost."

But this state of ridiculous semi-stupor lasted but for a moment. The slight twitch I felt as the fly slipped from the mouth of the fish operated like the sound of a trumpet. Every nerve tingled and the blood leaped through my veins as if every drop was an electric battery. In a very few moments, however, I was myself again. I had marked the spot where the fish had risen, had gathered up my line for another cast, had dropped the fly just where I desired it to rest, when, like a flash, the same enormous head appeared, the same open jaws revealed themselves, a swirl and a leap and a strike followed, and my first salmon was hooked with a thud, which told me as plainly as if the operation had transpired within the range of my vision, that if I lost him it would be my own fault. When thus assured, there was excitement but no flurry. My nerves thrilled and every muscle assumed the tension of well tempered steel, but I realized the full sublimity of the occasion, and a sort of majestic calmness took the place of the stupid inaction which followed the first apparition. My untested rod bent under the pressure in a graceful curve; my reel clicked out a livelier melody than ever emanated from harp or hautboy as the astonished fish made his first dash; the tensioned line emitted