John B. Garrett's Strange "Catch"
The following article, written in 1899, tells the wild tale of Past Masters John B. Garrett, Duncan McKay, and Barney Phillips and their exploits as members of the Swan Creek Fishing Club.
On Monday morning, April 10, the Swan Creek Fishing, Boating and Hunting Club, headed by John B Garrett, Grand Secretary of Masons of the State of Tennessee, who is President of the club: Duncan McKay, First Vice President and Herder of Water Dogs; R. M. Dudley, Secretary and Treasurer, and Dr. Stephens, Medical Director and Surgeon General, left the city on their forty-seventh annual fishing excursion. Packed in boxes were tents, cooking utensils, grub, fishing tackle and other paraphernalia of the club, while a suspicious looking keg labeled “vinegar,” but supposed to be “snake medicine,” was closely guarded by one of the members.
Swan Creek is situated in the wild and wooly West Tennessee. It is too far from Nashville for the fishermen to bring any fish home - at least, none of the club were ever seen with any - and just near enough to the city for the members to feel that they are not eternally lost. The club numbers forty members, and every one went on this forty-seventh trip except Henry Forde, the Chief Quartermaster, who found it impossible to lend his presence on the occasion of the grand procession to the depot, but went out later, and is supposed to have carried more s.m. The party returned Friday, and immediately on alighting from the train they scattered as quick as a band of Filipinos after a volley fired by the First Tennessee Regiment. Each one took himself to his home - all except the President of the push, who wended his way to his office in Masonic Library, to see if Barney Phillips had held down his job all right. As he entered the library he was greeted with cheers by the regular habitues of the place, and from a dozen throats, as of one voice, came the question, “Where is my string of fish?” It seems that Garrett, before leaving, had promised each one of them a mess of fish, expecting to have a good catch, but his promises, like a bankrupt’s note, had gone to protest. However, he explained to the satisfaction of all that it was not intentional - simply an error of judgment - and squared himself with everybody.
Once more restored to the love and confidence of his friends, he made everyone realize what he had missed by not being a member of the Swan Creek Fishing, Boating, and Hunting Club, recounting the many extraordinary happenings that take place on such expeditions, and for an hour interested(?) his friends with tales of the great feats performed by the Swan Creek Club. About the time everybody was getting weary of hearing the same old tales repeated - the story that has been told as often as has the tale of love, and with no more variations - Garrett seemed to take a fresh start, and said:
“On this trip I had one of the strangest ‘catches’ that probably mortal man ever heard of. I had patiently sat for two hours watching my cork, getting only an occasional nibble, and was at last getting about disgusted, when all at once something seized the hook and I was soon convinced it was a big one.”
“Water dog?” Innocently asked Barney Phillips.
“Now Dick (he always calls him Dick), you keep still a moment and I’ll tell you.”
“Was it that kingfisher that Duncan McKay wrote the poetry about last year?” inquired Albert Tavel.
“Bet a nickel it was a mud turtle,” said Dr. Deering Roberts, pausing in his game of chess long enough to make the remark.
“Let up, will you,” said the genial John, “long enough for me to tell you about the curiosity. Without any joking, it was the queerest sight that man ever witnessed. As I was about to remark, after the fish seized my hook, it darted off, and I let it have about fifty feet of line, when I called a halt. The pulling on that line I could not adequately describe to you. It was the strongest that I ever felt from the gamest fish known to the most experienced disciple of Izaac Walton - strong as a boy of 10 years of age could pull with both hands.”
“Did you have a whale?” inquired Dr. Enloe, with all the sarcasm he was capable of throwing into the question.
“He was hooked on to a two-pound catfish,” muttered Barney. “John never did catch anything that was over two ounces in weight, and when he got a two-pounder it made him think he was a fisherman.”
Giving Barney a scornful look, Garrett proceeded: “You fellows think you are funny, but you would have whistled a different tune if you had been in my place. I began to reel in, but it was useless. The fish thrashed around and jerked on the line so that I was compelled to pay out another fifty feet, and let him play awhile. I then began to reel him in, and as I did so he commenced to pull back like a young calf. Every foot I reeled in he would thrash around and put the water in such a foam that the creek looked like the river below Niagara Falls - white capped waves all around. Little by little, I wound my line up, but it was hard work, till at last I did not have more than fifteen feet out. If the work up to this time was hard the subsequent exertion must be called extra duty, for, compared with the latter, the former was but a holiday recreation. I thought it strange, too, that I had not seen the fish in all of his jumping around, but paid little attention to that.”
“Was it the annual Cape May sea serpent you had hooked?” again put in Barney.
“Barney,” said the Grand Secretary, “these are facts - not your war record - I am telling, so keep quiet. Little by little, I drew in the line, hand over hand, as I was compelled to discard the reel, and I tell you it took all of my strength to do it. At last, after nearly two hours’ work, I succeeded in getting the fish to the water’s edge and obtained a sight of what I had caught. And such a fish! It beat anything ever taken from the waters of Swan Creek or any other stream. It was about two feet long, and had a head and face the exact counterpart of the ugliest pug dog I ever saw, with ears about four inches long, shaped like those of a mule. Upon the head were two horns about six inches long, and its eyes were about the size of a half dollar and brilliantly fiery, resembling those of a snake in their quick movement. It had four legs, two in the front about a foot long, and two in the rear about four or five inches in length, with well-formed hoofs, like a horse. The body was covered on the back with wool, like a sheep, while the belly was covered with scales, the body gradually tapering and ending in a tail, like a fish. As I drew it out upon dry land it emitted from its throat a sound which was midway between the howl of a dog and the wail of a lost spirit”
At this point in the narrative Jim Ambrose, who had kept quiet so far, broke in: “Say, John, you hadn’t lost any spirits, had you?”
Not noticing the allusion to the snake medicine which the party carried with them, the narrator continued: “I at once saw why it was that I had such trouble in landing the fellow. The minute I attempted to reel him in he set his front feet in the mud, like a bucking mule in a mean temper, and refused to budge. Now that I had him on dry ground, I did not know what to do with him, so I gave a little pull on the line, and the ugly beast raised up on his little, short hind legs and gave a roar like a mountain lion and started toward me, jumping like a kangaroo. I had but precious little time to think, but in two seconds I had my revolver out and gave the gentleman a shot which keeled him over, not two feet from me”
“Brother John,” said Reuben Bowles, “are you sure that the spring lamb and green peas with which you had gorged yourself last year did not give you indigestion, and that you were not asleep and dreamed that you had caught a nightmare while fishing?”
“I was as wide awake as you are now, and actually caught the fish - animal, I should have said,” was the reply.
“Had you been drinking any of your snake medicine?” inquired Joe Carels, who had paused in his game of dominoes long enough to listen to the recital.
“Never drank a drop in my life,” answered Garrett, and Barney Phillips groaned.
“Well, have you got your fish in evidence to show us?” asked Josh Ambrose.
“That is the point I was just coming to when you fellows broke in with your base insinuations. After I shot him, I took the hook out of his mouth and made a critical examination of him. After which I yelled for Duncan McKay and the rest of the boys but I could not make them hear me, so I fired the remaining loads of my revolver in the air in rapid succession to bring them to me, and as I fired the last load the animal, which evidently had only been stunned, gave an ear-splitting howl, and before I could stop him hopped back into the water and disappeared beneath the waves.”
One by one the party in the library arose and passed out into the street, giving Garrett a look of sorrow, pity, and commiseration blended together, and bringing up the rear was Barney, his eyes filled with tears. At the elevator door he abandoned the party, turned to take a last fond look at Garrett, and then disappeared as the elevator shot up to the roof. Early next morning, as the golden god of day shot athwart the horizon his first beams, Barney was seen standing on the roof of Masonic Hall, his hands stretched forth unto a sun worshiper, his vision bent toward far-away Gallatin, and the early risers of the Maxwell House plainly heard him say in the anguish of his heart. “Oh Ananias! Oh Sapphira! Even me and you have been outdone!”