Forgotten Treasures #15: FISHIN' JIMMY--PART 3

III.

But one thing troubled Fishin' Jimmy.

He wanted to be a "fisher of men." That was what the Great Teacher had
promised he would make the fishermen who left their boats to follow him.
What strange, literal meaning he attached to the terms, we could not tell.
In vain we--especially the boys, whose young hearts had gone out in warm
affection to the old man--tried to show him that he was, by his effort to do
good and make others better and happier, fulfilling the Lord's directions.
He could not understand it so. "I allers try to think," he said, "that 't
was me in that boat when he come along. I make b'l'eve that it was out on
Streeter Pond, an' I was settin' in the boat, fixin' my lan'in net, when I
see him on the shore. I think mebbe I 'm that James--for that's my given
name, ye know, though they allers call me Jimmy--an' then I hear him callin'
me 'James, James.' I can hear him jest 's plain sometimes, when the wind 's
blowin' in the trees, an' I jest ache to up an' foller him. But says he, 'I
'll make ye a fisher o' men,' an' he aint done it. I 'm waitin'; mebbe he
'll larn me some day."

He was fond of all living creatures, merciful to all. But his love for our
dog Dash became a passion, for Dash was an angler. Who that ever saw him
sitting in the boat beside his master, watching with eager eye and whole
body trembling with excitement the line as it was cast, the flies as they
touched the surface--who can forget old Dash? His fierce excitement at rise
of trout, the efforts at self-restraint, the disappointment if the prey
escaped, the wild exultation if it was captured, how plainly--he who runs
might read--were shown these emotions in eye, in ear, in tail, in whole
quivering body! What wonder that it all went straight to the fisher's heart
of Jimmy! "I never knowed afore they could be Christians," he said,
looking, with tears in his soft eyes, at the every-day scene, and with no
faintest thought of irreverence. "I never knowed it, but I'd give a
stiffikit o' membership in the orthodoxest church goin' to that dog there."

It is almost needless to say that as years went on Jimmy came to know many
"fishin' min'sters;" for there are many of that school who know our mountain
country, and seek it yearly. All these knew and loved the old man. And
there were others who had wandered by that sea of Galilee, and fished in the
waters of the Holy Land, and with them Fishin' Jimmy dearly loved to talk.
But his wonder was never-ending that, in the scheme of evangelizing the
world, more use was not made of the "fishin' side" of the story. "Hain't
they ever tried it on them poor heathen?" he would ask earnestly of some
clerical angler casting a fly upon the clear water of pond or brook. "I
should think 't would 'a' ben the fust thing they 'd done. Fishin' fust,
an' r'liging 's sure to foller. An' it 's so easy; fur heath'n mostly
r'sides on islands, don't they? So ther 's plenty o' water, an' o' course
ther 's fishin'; an' oncet gin 'em poles an' git 'em to work, an' they 're
out o' mischief fur that day. They 'd like it better 'n cannib'ling, or
cuttin' out idles, or scratchin' picters all over theirselves, an'
bimeby--not too suddent, ye know, to scare 'em--ye could begin on that
story, an' they could n't stan' that , not a heath'n on 'em. Won't ye speak
to the 'Merican Board about it, an' sen' out a few fishin' mishneries, with
poles an' lines an' tackle gen'ally? I've tried it on dreffle bad folks,
an' it allers done 'em good. But"--so almost all his simple talk ended--"I
wish I could begin to be a fisher o' men. I 'm gettin' on now, I 'm nigh
seventy, an' I aint got much time, ye see."

One afternoon in July there came over Franconia Notch one of those strangely
sudden tempests which sometimes visit that mountain country. It had been
warm that day, unusually warm for that refreshingly cool spot; but suddently
the sky grew dark and darker, almost to blackness, there was a roll of
thunder and flash of lightning, and then poured down the rain--rain at
first, but soon hail in large frozen bullets, which fiercely pelted any who
ventured outdoors, rattled against the windows of the Profile House with
sharp cracks like sounds of musketry, and lay upon the piazza in heaps like
snow. And in the midst of the wild storm it was remembered that two boys,
guests at the hotel, had gone up Mount Lafayette alone that day. They were
young boys, unused to mountain climbing, and their friends were anxious. It
was found that Dash had followed them; and just as some one was to be sent
in search of them, a boy from the stables brought the information that
Fishin' Jimmy had started up the mountain after them as the sotrm broke.
"Said if he could n't be a fisher o' men, mebbe he knowed nuff to ketch
boys," went on our informant, seeing nothing more in the speech, full of
pathetic meaning to us who knew him, than the idle talk of one whom many
considered "lackin'." Jimmy was old now, and had of late grown very feeble,
and we did not like to think of him out in that wild storm. And now
suddenly the lost boys themselves appeared through the opening in the woods
opposite the house, and ran in through the sleet, now falling more quietly.
They were wet, but no worse apparently for their adventure, though full of
contrition and distress at having lost sight of the dog. He had rushed off
into the woods some hours before, after a rabbit or hedgehog, and had never
returned. Nor had they seen Fishin' Jimmy.

As hours went by and the old man did not return, a search party was sent
out, and guides familiar with the mountain paths went up Lafayette to seek
for him. It was nearly night when they at last found him, and the grand old
mountains had put on those robes of royal purple which they sometimes assume
at eventide. At the foot of a mass of rock, which looked like amethyst or
wine-red agate in that marvellous evening light, the old man was lying, and
Dash was with him. From the few faint words Jimmy could then gasp out, the
truth was gathered. He had missed the boys, leaving the path by which they
had returned, and while stumbling along in search of them, feeble and weary,
he had heard far below a sound of distress. Looking down over a steep,
rocky ledge, he had seen his friend and fishing comrade, old Dash, in sore
trouble. Poor Dash! He never dreamed of harming his old friend, for he had
a kind heart. But he was a sad coward in some matters, and a very baby when
frightened and away from master and friends. So I fear he may have assumed
the role of wounded sufferer when in reality he was but scared and lonesome.
He never owned this afterward, and you may be sure we never let him know, by
word or look, the evil he had done. Jimmy saw him holding up one paw
helplessly, and looking at him with wistful, imploring brown eyes, heard his
pitiful whimpering cry for aid, and never doubted his great distress and
peril. Was Dash not a fisherman? And fishermen, in Jimmy's category, were
always true and trusty. So the old man without a second's hesitation
started down the steep, smooth decline to the rescue of his friend.

We do not know how or where in that terrible descent he fell. To us who
afterward saw the spot, and thought of the weak old man, chilled by the
storm, exhausted by his exertions, and yet clambering down that precipitous
cliff, made more slippery and treacherous by the sleet and hail still
falling, it seemed impossible that he could have kept a foothold for an
instant. Nor am I sure that he expected to save himself, and Dash too. But
he tried. He was sadly hurt, I will not tell you of that.

Looking out from the hotel windows through the gathering darkness, we who
loved him--it was not a small group--saw a sorrowful sight. Flickering
lights thrown by the lanterns of the guides came through the woods. Across
the road, slowly, carefully, came strong men, bearing on a rough hastily
made litter of boughs the dear old man. All that could have been done for
the most distinguished guest, for the dearest, best-beloved friend, was done
for the gentle fisherman. We, his friends, and proud to style ourselves
thus, were of different, widely separated lands, greatly varying creeds.
Some were nearly as old as the dying man, some in the prime of manhood.
There were youths and maidens and little children. But through the night we
watched together. The old Roman bishop, whose calm, benign face we all know
and love; the Churchman, ascetic in faith, but with the kindest, most
indulgent heart when one finds it; the gently old Quakeress with placid,
unwrinkled brow and silvery hair; Presbyterian, Methodist, and Baptist,--we
were all one that night. The old angler did not suffer--we were so glad of
that! But he was not speaking to us. A sudden, awed hush and thrill came
over us as, bending to catch the low words, we all at once understood what
only the bishop put into words as he said, half to himself, in a sudden,
quick, broken whisper, "God bless the man, he 's talking to his Master!"

"Yes, sir, that 's so," went on the quiet voice; "'t was on'y a dog sure
nuff; 'twa'n't even a boy, as ye say, an' ye ast me to be a fisher o' men.
But I hain't had no chance for that, somehow; mebbe I wa'n't fit for 't.
I'm on'y jest a poor old fisherman, Fishin' Jimmy, ye know, sir. Ye useter
call me James--no one else ever done it. On'y a dog? But he wa'n't jest a
common dog, sir; he was a fishin' dog. I never seed a man love fishin' mor
'n Dash." The dog was in the room, and heard his name. Stealing to the
bedside, he put a cold nose into the cold hand of his old friend, and no one
had the heart to take him away. The touch turned the current of the old
man's talk for a moment, and he was fishing again with his dog friend. "See
'em break, Dashy! See 'em break! Lots on 'em today, aint they? Keep
still, there 's a good dog, while I put on a diffunt fly. Don't ye see they
're jumpin' at them gnats? Aint the water jest 'live with 'em? Aint it
shinin' an' clear an'--" The voice faltered an instant, then went on: "Yes,
sir, I 'm comin'--I 'm glad, dreffle glad to come. Don't mind 'bout my
leavin' my fishin'; do ye think I care 'bout that? I 'll jest lay down my
pole ahin' the alders here, an' put my lan'in' net on the stuns, with my
flies an' tackle--the boys 'll like 'em, ye know--an' I 'll be right along.

"I mos' knowed ye was on'y a-tryin' me when ye said that 'bout how I had n't
been a fisher o' men, nor even boys, on'y a dog. 'T was a--fishin' dog--ye
know--an' ye was allers dreffle good to fishermen,--dreffle good
to--everybody; died for 'em, did n't ye?--

"Please wait--on--the bank there, a minit; I 'm comin' 'crost. Water 's
pretty cold this--spring--an' the stream 's risin'--but I--can--do
it;--don't ye mind--'bout me, sir. I 'll get acrost." Once more the voice
ceased, and we thought we should not hear it again this side of that stream.

But suddenly a strange light came over the thin face, the soft gray eyes
opened wide, and he cried out, with the strong voice we had so often heard
come ringing out to us across the mountain streams above the sound of their
rushing: "Here I be, sir! It 's Fishin' Jimmy, ye know, from Francony way;
him ye useter call James when ye come 'long the shore o' the pond an' I was
a-fishin.' I heern ye agin, jest now--an' I
straightaway--f'sook--my--nets--an'--follered--"

Had the voice ceased utterly? No, we could catch faint, low murmurs and the
lips still moved. But the words were not for us; and we did not know when
he reached the other bank.

END FISHIN' JIMMY
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inclusion here does not violate any U.S. or other copyright laws.