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.