Fishin Sons of "Zebberdee": The Philosophy of a Colored Fisherman Who Knew What He Wanted, Daily Racing Form, 1919-02-01


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- FISHIN SONS OF "ZEBBERDEE" The Philosophy of a Colored Fisherman Who Knew What Ho Wanted. In :i delightful sketch, "Fishing for Black Buss," in the American Angler. Dr. J. A. Henshell tells of the philosophy of a colored angler in this way; Drifting along in a boat one day oiPLake Buelah fly-fishing for large mouth bass, I happened to float near an old colored brother sitting on a cypress stump still-fishing for crappie. Every little while he would jerk one out much larger than his broad, black hand,- always with some word of satisfaction, as "Cum in outen de wet, mister speekel percii and jine you hreddern in de baskit." He had been watching me out of the corner of his eye for some little time, and as I drifted near him he could curb his curiosity no longer as he said: "Wat kina bait you-all usin Boss?" "Artificial flies." I replied. "Luk to me lak fedders," lie rejoined. "Yes," I assented, "they are partly made of feathers." "Well, Boss, I dont tink de speekel perch laks dat :kina vittals; bettah had sum o my minuies I scoop outen de levee- pit dis inornin; you shore is welcum to em." "Thank you, Uncle,- but Im fishin for black bass." "Wat kina bass is dat? I ketch yaller bass- and wite bass outen de ribber, but I haint nebber seed no black mis. " "You call them trout. Uncle." "Oh, yaas, I shore knows de trout; I dun seed an ole lunker jump out after a snake doctah dragon fly a wile ago obcr dar by de yonkerpins lotus lilies." "Guess Ill have a try for him," I said. Thereupon he exclaimed: "Bettah not try it. Boss; dem big trouts jus natchurly bad and verashus, and dat ole snollegoster ud snash yo lil pole lak a bulrush!" When I began casting along the lotus lilies lie seemed much interested and said: "I bin scared to deff eber since I seed dat big trout dat hed cum nosin roun my minny; I wudnt min if I wus fixed fur em, but perch fixin aint in it wid dat old wah-hoss; I feel jus lak ole niggah Jake." "Hows that?" I asked. "Well, ole Jake dun goes fishin mos ebry day in de week and Sunday, too; aii he alius goes fixed fur de kina fish hes arter. One day, down at de ribber he wus fishin fo catfish; de fust fish he cot wus a monstrus big trout. He tnk it offen de hook kina keerful an easy lak and put it back in de ribber. and sed: Misfcih trout, you cum back hcah next Satday and IU be. glad to "see you, but Im fishin fur catfish today; an wen I goes cattin, I goes cattin. So you sec, Boss, wen I goes-perchin, I goes perchin, case Im not fixed for trout." It was not long before the "ole lunker" rose to my fly. and I hooked him securely. He leaped repeatedly and made the water boil furiously for a few minutes. The old negro forgot his crappie and was an excited sjieetator of the fray, and exclaimed: "Luk out. Boss, lies mekken fo de yonkerpins! My grief! see dat lil pole ben- and twis!" And as I drew the fish into the lauding net. ho said: "Bress my soul, Boss, dat wus de bes fight I ebber see sence Kurnel Jim Jones houns licked the sphiv-foot bar dowii in de cane-brake!" As I took up the oars -preparing to rov away, I said: Gobd-by, Uncle; weve had a good time!" "We shore has," he replied. "Good-by. Boss; but Ise not yo uncle, Ise yo ekal; wese bofe fishin sons o Zcbbcrdee!"

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